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 A 
 
 CHURCH YARD 
 STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 B. CARRADINE 
 
 Author of 
 'Pen Picfuret," "Putor^l Sktiches," "Remarkable Occurrences," etc., eic. 
 
 t 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE ^ CO. 
 
 407-429 Dearborn Street
 
 Copyright, 190^, by 
 B. CARRADINE
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Church Yard Story 7 
 
 The Ballantynes 77 
 
 A Strange Homestead 123 
 
 Judge Dalrymple 155 
 
 The Two Cronies 207 
 
 1821031
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 These stories were written several years ago by 
 the author partly for mental recreation, and part- 
 ly in loving remembrance of his native State, the 
 great Commonwealth of Mississippi. 
 
 The sites of the stories are laid in four coun- 
 ties of the State ; fully as many social planes of the 
 people are made to appear in the narratives; 
 while characters, dialects, customs and conditions, 
 both of the past and present, are preser^^ed in a 
 form that we believe the reader will heartily ap- 
 prove and enjoy. 
 
 The writer, though now living in a far distant 
 city from the place of his birth, yet cannot forget 
 nor cease to value, the land and home of such men 
 as Jefferson Davis, S. S. Prentiss, Walker Brooke, 
 L. Q. C. Lamar, W. P. Harris, C. K. Marshall, 
 Chas. B. Galloway, Robert Lowry, J. S. Williams 
 and a perfect constellation besides of brilliant 
 men and women who have made their own State 
 famous as well as themselves immortal by words 
 and deeds that are monumental and imperish- 
 able. 
 
 It is with a pardonable pride, then, and an abid- 
 ing affection that this volume is dedicated to the 
 people of Mississippi by the 
 
 Author. 
 
 St. Louis, Mo., May, 1904.
 
 A CHURCH YARD STORY
 
 A Church Yard Story 
 
 A few years ago, one afternoon in May, I was 
 riding on horseback through a portion of the State 
 of Mississippi, that before the war was considered 
 one of its garden spots. I was directing my course 
 to the town of Medfield, the center of this formerly 
 rich and cultivated region. I had heard when a 
 boy of the great plantations of this county, with 
 their billowy crops of com and cotton; of the pa- 
 latial homes situated in noble groves, and visible 
 miles away; and of the finely kept roads bordered 
 with the beautiful Cherokee hedge, which trav- 
 ersed the country in every direction. 
 
 Here I was at last in this famous region; but 
 seen under such changed conditions that the eyes 
 grew misty, and the heart melancholy with the 
 contrast. The noble old Southern mansions were 
 either in ruins, partly occupied, or shut up entire- 
 ly, while an unkempt air manifest, even from the 
 road, declared the absence or death of the former 
 owners. The fields stretching on all sides to dis- 
 tant lines of timber were washed into great gullies 
 and covered with yellow sedge. Partition fences, 
 
 9
 
 10 A Church Yard Story 
 
 in most instances, were gone, and though the road 
 still boasted some of the luxuriance of the hedge, 
 yet it did so in a ragged and broken way, while 
 the frequent gaps were filled with mouldy looking 
 rails ; and now and then a tottering gate was seen 
 propped up in various ways for the protection of 
 those portions of the fields which happened to be 
 under cultivation. 
 
 It was three o 'clock in the afternoon, and I was 
 eight miles from Medfield when I observed a heavy 
 thunder shower approaching. Taking in the 
 breadth of the cloud and its nearness, it was evi- 
 dent that in my umbrellaless condition a drench- 
 ing was inevitable unless cover could speedily be 
 found. The nearest house was over a quarter of a 
 mile ahead. It was one of the old Southern homes, 
 large and imposing, and situated on a swell of 
 ground. It was literally buried in the heart of 
 what was once a beautiful grove, but through neg- 
 lect had become a tangled woodland. The house- 
 top and a portion of the portico with its large pil- 
 lars could be seen from the road, but I saw the 
 rain would be upon me before I could gain its 
 shelter. 
 
 I was just reconciling my mind to the thought of 
 exposure to the weather, when the eye took in 
 another grove, and just appearing over the tops 
 of the trees, the Gothic roof and upper brick walls
 
 A Church Yard Story 11 
 
 of what seemed to be a church. Leaping my horse 
 over a low part of the fence, I galloped swiftly 
 through the woodland in the direction of the build- 
 ing. It proved to be a small brick chapel, once 
 quite handsome, but now in ruins. Eiding my 
 horse into a kind of outer vestibule which prom- 
 ised protection, I had just done so when the stonn 
 burst forth in a perfect fuiy. I was in a measure 
 sheltered from the downpour, though the wind 
 would bring in, occasionally, considerable spray 
 from its lateral sweeps. For quite a while I stood 
 listening to the crashing thunder, watching the 
 slanting lines of rain and the tossing branches of 
 the trees. Finally, hitching my horse to a brick 
 pillar, I walked into the church proper, and noted 
 with a glance its complete desolation. I learned 
 afterwards that the building was not over fifty 
 years old, though it looked a thousand that after- 
 noon. The walls were cracked, the roof was 
 broken in at places, the narrow diamond shaped 
 windows were gone, and through the apertures I 
 could see some granite and marble shafts, with 
 bowing and swaying cedars among them ; and fur- 
 ther still, the great branches of oaks and elms 
 twisting and wringing themselves as if in mortal 
 grief. The occasional flash of lightning, and the 
 attendant crash of thunder, filling the empty edi- 
 fice with startling echoes, intensified the solemnity
 
 12 A Church Yard Story 
 
 of the scene, so that it was with a sense of relief 
 that I went back to the outer porch and the com- 
 panionship of my horse. 
 
 In twenty minutes the cloud passed away, the 
 rain ceased, and the low growl of thunder in the 
 distance showed the stoim was over. The slant- 
 ing beams of the evening sun began to strike 
 through the thick foliage of the grove, while the 
 little sighs of the almost spent wind shook off the 
 raindrops from the green leaves to fall with soft 
 patter upon the brown carpet and odorous turf 
 made by the leaf deposits of other seasons. 
 
 Leading my horse to a broken down fence in 
 front of the church, I returned to explore the small 
 burial ground which I had seen through the win- 
 dows in the rear of the church. From boyhood, a 
 graveyard has always possessed for me a peculiar 
 fascination. 
 
 I discovered that it was a private cemetery; 
 and while there were different names on the pil- 
 lars and vaults, yet they were easily recognized 
 as family connections, and the distinguishing one 
 was Dabney. 
 
 While looking upon the weather stained shafts, 
 untrimmed shrubberj^ and green moss covering a 
 number of the graves and stone slabs, my eyes 
 suddenly fell on a tomb in a corner of the grave- 
 yard which at once arrested my attention. The
 
 A Church Yard Story 13 
 
 crypt was of marble and even with the ground. 
 At each corner was an urn several feet in height 
 of the same material. At the side of the grave 
 was an iron chair, and in front of it was a small 
 square of granite. The soil of the yard had by 
 rains encroached upon the upper portion of the 
 sepulcher; one of the urns had been pushed over 
 by the projecting lower branches of a cedar, and 
 the iron chair was nisty from its long exposure to 
 the elements. 
 
 It would be hard to explain, but the strangest 
 influence was at once exercised over me by this 
 lonely tomb in the churchyard. There were other 
 neglected graves, but something about this one 
 peculiarly affected and moved me. There was evi- 
 dence of unusual devotion to this silent sleeper. 
 Some one used to come here and sit by the side of 
 this pulseless and voiceless inhabitant of the 
 ground. Who was it in the grave, and who sat in 
 the chair! Was it a man or woman, and why had 
 the person ceased to visit the place? Had the lone- 
 ly watcher moved away, or had death at last come 
 and reunited the separated ones! 
 
 These thoughts came quickly over me; and, with 
 a curiosity, not unhallowed or vulgar, but bom 
 of a tender interest in the heart, I drew near the 
 spot to read the name of the dead. Finding that 
 the drifting dirt and green mold had covered parts
 
 14 A Church Yard Story 
 
 of the inscription I took my knife, and digging 
 out the earth from the hollow lettering, read the 
 following words: 
 
 Sacred 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 of 
 
 GERALD FAULKNER, 
 
 BORN 
 
 May 1st, 1833, 
 
 DIED 
 
 June 8th, 1859. 
 
 Aged 26 years, 1 month and 7 days. 
 
 This was all. Part of the mystery was removed, 
 but much remained uncleared. The form lying be- 
 neath me was that of a young man, and the name 
 was Faulkner; but why should a Faulkner be in a 
 burial ground belonging evidently to the Dab- 
 neys, and who was this lonely mourner who 
 grieved over him? Was it wife, sister, or 
 friend? What had become of the being who had 
 kept such faithful vigil over the dead, and to what 
 part of the world had the stricken one drifted? 
 Then other thoughts came up. Had he been for- 
 gotten, or had some distant cemetery received the 
 form of the lonely watcher? 
 
 The place so affected and held me that it was
 
 A Church Yard Story 15 
 
 with difficulty I could tear myself away; but glanc- 
 ing at my watch and observing that it was nearly 
 four 'clock, I turned, and came round in front of 
 the ruined church to the place where my horse 
 was fastened. The note of a blue jay sounded 
 from the depths of the grove, while from far over- 
 head came the caw of a crow as he floated over 
 the fields toward his nest or roost in the forest, sev- 
 eral miles distant. 
 
 I was about to mount my horse when I heard 
 the voice of a negro man singing in the distance. 
 He was between me and the road I had left, and 
 was evidently entering the edge of the grove. The 
 voice was full and rich and had the tremulous 
 note in it for which the negro is famous. The song 
 was one of those weird, plaintive hymns that are 
 so often sung by the negroes of the South. The 
 singer at first was out of sight, but in a minute or 
 so appeared, coming up the path which led in 
 front of the church. When he was about thirty 
 yards off I cried out, 
 
 ''Hello!" 
 
 He stopped and turned his face, not exactly in 
 my direction, and answered: 
 
 "Whodatcallin'me?" 
 
 "It's me," I replied. 
 
 "Who's me, I lak ter know," was the sturdy re- 
 sponse as the man now fully confronted me.
 
 16 A Church Yard Story 
 
 ''It's me, Uncle," I said, ''come this way." 
 "Whut mek you call me Uncle? I ain't yoh 
 Uncle." 
 
 ' ' Well, come here anyhow. I want to see you. ' ' 
 The negro had rested both his hands on his 
 white oak walking stick and was staring fixedly at 
 me. Evidently something in my appearance and 
 words disarmed him of suspicion, and leaving the 
 path, he came pushing his way through the under- 
 brush, the twigs snapping under his feet as he ap- 
 proached, and finally stood before me. He seemed 
 to be about sixty years old, though he may have 
 been older. His hair, eyebrows, and beard were 
 gray, the hat which he held in his hand was limp 
 and full of holes, while coat, he had none. His 
 coarse shirt of Lowells, once white, but now brown 
 from much use, was open from the neck half way 
 down the chest, revealing a triangle of black skin. 
 His trousers, made of some coarse heavy goods of 
 grayish tint, had patches of several different 
 colors. Yet with all these signs of poverty, the 
 face was a good one, showing kindliness of heart 
 and character. 
 
 "I thought," said I, with a reassuring smile, 
 "that you would not mind coming a few yards to 
 get a plug of tobacco for answering a few ques- 
 .tions." 
 
 The black face instantly lighted up with a
 
 A Church Yard Story 17 
 
 gleam of pleasure as he said with great hearti- 
 ness: 
 
 "Dat I don't, Boss. You dun hit me a center 
 lick, shore"; and then followed that rich African 
 laugh, "kee-yaw-yaw," which, once heard, can 
 never be forgotten. 
 
 I handed him the half plug, which I never used 
 myself, but often in my rides through the country 
 carried with me to obtain small favors of the col- 
 ored people in opening gates, showing me over 
 unknown fields, creeks, etc. He took the tobacco, 
 turned it over several times, smelled it on both 
 sides with evident satisfaction, and said: 
 
 ''Well, I 'clare to gracious, I wuz jes' wishin' 
 fur sum er dis same ole Virginny." 
 
 "What is your name. Uncle?" 
 
 This time the man took no offense at the word 
 "Uncle." I could easily see I had advanced in 
 his favor and confidence, with my Southern ac- 
 cent, and manner of giving. 
 
 "]\[ah name's Pompey, suli; Pompey Dabney. 
 Sometimes when folks is in er hun\v dey calls me 
 Pomp. I b'long'd ter de Dabneys, suh, foh de 
 Wah." 
 
 "They were an old Mississippi family, I be- 
 lieve?"^ 
 
 "Yes, suh ; but dey come f 'um ole Virginny hyer 
 an' brung all dey niggers wid 'em 'bout de time
 
 18 A Church Yard Story 
 
 de stars fell. Mali Mammy wuz in er wagon sleep 
 when she riz up an' seed 'em shoot an' drap." 
 
 *'I sujDpose," said I, "that the Dabneys were 
 very rich." 
 
 "Law, chile, cream wamt no whar ter dem, dey 
 wuz dat rich. Dey had foh plantations,— one on 
 de 'Azoo River, an' one on Silver Krik, an' one 
 down in Luzanny, an' den de home place hyer in 
 de hills. You mus ' er seed de house up dah on de 
 rise ' de groun ' foh yer turns in hyer. ' ' 
 
 I replied that I had seen the house in the dis- 
 tance, and then said: 
 
 ' * I heard of the Dabneys when I was a boy. I. 
 wish you would tell me a little about them; 
 whether they are living, and if so, what has be- 
 come of them. Then just before I saw you I was 
 in the little church to escape the rain, and won- 
 dered who had built it." 
 
 "De Dabneys, dey built it, suh. Dey was Pis- 
 kolopyuns an' dey sont off fur a preacher, an' sot 
 him up hyer jes' fur dey own se'ves; an' dat 
 church is a Piskolopyun church, suh." 
 
 "But this is not all I wish to know," I resumed. 
 "Just back of the church in that burial ground 
 yonder, there is a tomb with an iron chair by its 
 side. Can you tell me anything about it, and why 
 a person named Faulkner should be buried in the 
 Dabney graveyard; and who used to sit in that
 
 .4. Church Yard Story 19 
 
 iron cliair; and why is it that the grave is now so 
 neglected ! ' ' 
 
 " 'Deed I kin, suh, an' dah ain't no nigger in 
 dis whole country knows as much as me 'bouten 
 whut youse axen. Nigh onter all de ole kullud 
 folks is daid; an' de j^oung niggers, suh, dun alL 
 gone ter Medfield ter live, or, you better say, ter 
 stance. Dey doan know nuffin 'tall 'bout de qual- 
 ity times we had foh de Wah." 
 
 ''It was in the hope that you could tell me these 
 things that I called you, and if you will do so I'll 
 give you something better than a plug of tobacco." 
 
 In reply to this, Pompey, with a chuckle, sat 
 down upon the lower step of an old horse block; 
 and now, with both hands around his stick, and 
 now laying it in his lap while gesticulating, he 
 thus delivered himself: 
 
 "Yes, suh, all de Dabneys is daid 'cep'n me an' 
 some neffers an' neeces I nuvver seed. Ole Mahster 
 died de ye'r— lemme see— de ye'r I had de ruma- 
 tiz so bad— oh yes— six ye'r foh de Wah. Dat lef ' 
 Ole Mistis an' Miss Cora in de big house up dah. 
 I tell you dat house wus er house sho 'nough. Dey 
 use to hev' big gwines on up dah in Old Mahster 's 
 time. Folks come f'um Virginny an' eve'}"whar, 
 an' spen' a mont' at a time, an' I tell yer it kep' 
 us niggers on de jump. Den arter he died Ole 
 Miss' tuk Miss Cora off to school up Xorf som'ers,
 
 20 A Church Yard Story 
 
 an' den dey trabel in Europe er while. An' when 
 dey come home at las' dey done been gone five 
 year, an' Miss Cora, whut wuz a gal when she lef , 
 come back a growed up woman. An', my sakes, 
 de young gemmuns wuz mos' crazy 'bouten her." 
 
 "I heard," interrupted I, "that she was a very 
 beautiful girl." 
 
 "Mun alive," exclaimed the old darkey, thrust- 
 ing his stick repeatedly into the soft ground in 
 giving emphasis to his words, "nobody could hoi' 
 a candle to her. She walk lak she 'spise de groun'. 
 She put all de urrer young ladies 'bout hyer plum 
 in de shade, an' she flung de young gemmun sky 
 high. Judge Seymour's son, he trj^ to ketch her, 
 an' played de guitar o' nights under her winder; 
 but shoo! she jes' laugh at him an' he tuk sick an' 
 lak to died. Den Ginnul Sinclair's brudder, him 
 as wuz a Major in de rig'lar army, hyer he come 
 along wid his shoulder straps an' brass buttons 
 an' mustache an' goatee; but he couldn' do nuffin 
 'tall wid Miss Cora. He jes' wamt no whar an' 
 she sont him flyin' 'long wid de res'. 
 
 "One day she wuz out ridin' wid him an' as dey 
 wuz gallopin' 'long de lane jes' out dah, her comb 
 drapped out, an' her long black hair fell down 
 all roun' her. Den she look at him a laughin' wid 
 her cheeks all red, an' her black eves a shinin'— 
 an' I 'clare fob de Lawd, dat man look lak he
 
 A Church Yard Story 21 
 
 gwine to hev a fit. He jes' couldn' scacely 'have 
 hisse'f." 
 
 *'How do you know all this?" 
 
 "How'd I know? Lor' bless ver, I wuz Ole 
 Mahster's body suvvant two vear; an' arter dev 
 come back fum Europe dey tuk me outen de field 
 an' 'stalled me in de house ag'in, to wait on 'em 
 an' do de 'sponsibilities de urrer niggers couldn' 
 do. So w 'en Miss Cora rid out on dat skinimshus 
 bay mahr o' hem, I allers went along on de big 
 roan to take keer o' her. An' so dat day w'en de 
 comb fell on de groun', Major Sinclair he flung 
 hisse'f off en his hoss quicker 'n light 'nin', grabbed 
 it up an' put it in his breas' pocket an' turned up 
 his eyes at Miss Cora lak a sick duck. I sholy 
 thought Miss Cora would drap offen her hoss a 
 laughin'. Bvmbv she sav to him, 
 
 •' * Major Sinclair, please gimme mah comb.' 
 
 "But he 'lowed he'd ruther die 'an do it. Den 
 Miss Cora turn ter me an' say, 'Pompey, go an' 
 cut me a long thawn offen dat tree.' An' I done 
 it, an' fethched her er fine slick one mos' six inches 
 long. When T retched de thawn to her, de Major 
 he hilt back lak he skeered Miss Cora gwine to 
 gouge him wid it. But she put it krost-ways in 
 her mouf, an* tuk her long hair in her ban's and 
 twis' it up in er big knot behin'. Den she tuk de 
 thawn outen her mouf an' stuck it in de knot, an'
 
 22 A Church Yard Story 
 
 I tell you, it liilt it. Nex' thing, she cluck ter her 
 hoss an' gallop up de road wid de Major arter her. 
 Well, suh, you think dat man when he hope Miss 
 Cora off at de hoss-block, didn't ax her fur dat 
 thawn? Den I hyer Miss Cora say ter him— 
 
 '* * Major Sinclair, hit looks to me lak you want 
 all I got!" 
 
 ''I wuz 'hin' de roan makin' out lak I wuz 
 bucklin' a strap w'en I hyerd her say dat. Den 
 I say to myse'f, 'Yes, Lawd, she done tole de 
 Gawd's truf ; dat man wants all we niggers 'sides 
 Miss Cora.' 
 
 "Pears dat vahy night he got Miss Cora orf in 
 de consuvvatory 'mungst de palmetters an' ole- 
 yanders, whar dey couldn' see him fum de parlor. 
 I wuz by de glass doh whut leads outen to de yard, 
 a stoppin' 'hind some flowers, w'en I see Major 
 Sinclair git down on one knee an' say sumpin'. 
 Den I hyer Miss Cora say, 
 
 ** 'Major Sinclair, please don' be so reediker- 
 lus',— an' de Major he grab her han' an' say, 
 
 '* 'Miss Dabney, I love j'^ou wid all my heart,— 
 I'se gwine plum 'stracted 'bout you.' Den he up 
 an' ax her to mahy him; an' Miss Cora, she pull 
 her han' away suddint, an' drawin' herse'f up 
 straight, she sayd, 
 
 " 'Major Sinclair, de case is hopeless— I kin 
 nuvver mahy you. '
 
 A Church Yard Story 23 
 
 ''Wen I hyer dat fur, I slip outen de consuv- 
 vatory an' sot on de aige o' de peazzy a thinkin'. 
 Bymby, word come to me to hev de Major's hoss 
 bmng out. So I walks down to de lot an' tells 
 Joe to fotch Major Sinclair's boss up, dat he's 
 done had a onexpected call home an' is desput 
 anxious to git dah at once. So Joe, he tuk de hoss 
 up an' I gits in de shadder uv a big ole poplar by 
 de lot fence, an' looks out fur de Major. Pres'ny, 
 hyer he comes down de road, a clipperty-clip- 
 perty, wid his cow hide a fallin' on his black hoss, 
 an' he a puffin' an' a blowin' an' a cussin' till he 
 'minst me uv a steam ingine on de rail road. He 
 jes' whiz pas' me on dat hoss lak a comet, an' I 
 sot down on de grass, an' I sho laughed. 
 
 "It all 'minst me er how I courted Dinah. Dinah, 
 you know, wuz Miss Cora's maid, an' wuz as lakly 
 a yaller gal as ever shuk a foot over a puncheon 
 floh. Well, suh, 1 got powful sot on Dinah, an' 
 got to mopin' aroun' and couldn' eat no victuals 
 o' no kin', I wuz dat bad off. I look so mournful 
 dat Dinah tol ' me I minst her of a sick calf wid no 
 mammy. Ev'y time I try to git her in a comer 
 and purmulgate 'bout my feelins she mek out she 
 hyer Miss Cora callin' her, an' lit out. Den she 
 mek out she was mighty intrusted in a new yaller 
 nigger, name Caesar, dat old Mistis bought to wait 
 on de dinin' room. My! how Dinah did tek on wid
 
 24 A Church Yard Story 
 
 dat nigger, in special w'en I wuz round. On top 
 ' dat, one day Miss Cora say to me, wid a funny 
 look at Dinah, 'Pompey, do you know li* story say 
 dat Caesar got ahead o ' Pompey 1 ' ' All dis made 
 me feel mighty grumptious an' I say to myse'f— 
 dis ting got to be fixed up dis vahy night. 
 
 *'Now I done hyer Miss Cora readin' to her Ma 
 at night 'bout how de fine gemmun drap on dey 
 knees in 'spressin' dey feelin's, so dat night I 
 meets up wid Dinah at de pump in de cistern 
 house, in de back yard. De cistern house had lat- 
 tice work all roun' it, an' de moonlight wuz a 
 creepin' in sof ', an' dah wuz Dinah, lookin' un- 
 common nice, an' de fus' thing she know I drapt 
 on one knee an' try to put my han' on my breas', 
 jes' so; but I speck I drap it too low, so w'en I 
 sayd, 
 
 " 'I hev a gTeat pain fur you hyer, Dinah', I 
 'clare to you, foh I could git anurrer word out, 
 dat nigger say to me, she say, 
 
 '* *ls you got a pain in yoh stummick, Pompey? 
 Mus' I run an' git you some pahygoric?' 
 
 ''An' foh gracious, she up an' flung a dipper o' 
 water onto me to bring me to, she say; an' den 
 run in de house a laughin'. 
 
 ''Laws-a-mussy, wuzn't I a bilin'. I jess went 
 roun' de big house a pufiin' an' a blowin' an' a
 
 A Church Yard Story 25 
 
 r'arin' lak Major Sinclair. I tell you de Major 
 brung hit all back to me. 
 
 "Well suh, as I went a tearin* 'roun' de comer 
 o' de house I come ker bang 'ginst Oaesar, who 
 wuzn' lookin' fur me, an' I wuzn' lookin' fur him 
 nuther. But he think I did it on puppus an' I 
 thunk he did it on puppus, an' so we clinched an' 
 fell over on de grass a hittin' an' a gougin'. I wuz 
 all shuk up aforehan' an' pow'ful glad to work 
 off some o' my miz'ry on somebody, an' special 
 on dat nigger Caesar. So 'twarn' long 'foh I had 
 him down an' wuz a poun'in' him good fashion, 
 an' he callin' 'nough, 'nough, w'en up went a 
 winder an' dar stood Miss Cora an' Dinah hinst 
 her, lookin' 'stonished at us. 
 
 " 'Why, Pompey,' Miss Cora say, 'whut you 
 doin' to Caesar? Ain' you 'shame o' yohse'f?' 
 
 "Den I riz up off en Caesar an' axed her pardin, 
 an' sayd, 
 
 " 'I speck Dinah kin tell you whut's de mattah.' 
 
 "All de nex' day I 'lowed we bofe gwine git a 
 lickin' fum de overseer fur dat freekus, but Caesar 
 couldn' git outen his baid an' didn' need anuiTcr 
 whippin'; an' Miss Cora tol' me in de hall nex' 
 day dat I ought to be whipped, but she done 
 thought it all over an' as Caesar whipped Pompey 
 wunst it might not hurt to let Pompey whip Caesar
 
 26 A Church Yard Story 
 
 wunst. Den she look at Dinah an' dey bofe 
 laughed. 
 
 "I tell you, suh, I sutny riz in Dinah's eyes w'en 
 she see me lick dat yaller nigger 'tliout gittin' a 
 scratch; whilst he had one eye shot up, his jaw 
 all swelled up, an' eat spoon victuals fur a whole 
 week wid one side o' his mouf." 
 
 ''But, Pompey," I said, "all this is very inter- 
 esting; but you must remember I want to know 
 about the grave yonder in the burial ground." 
 
 "Sho 'nough, suh, slio 'nough. I'm a comin' 
 to it, suh. Law, yes, honey, I'm a gittin' dar. You 
 know I aint got no eddycation. Miss Cora tried 
 her han' on me, to mek me talk more proper, she 
 sayd, but I wuz brung up in de cotton patch and 
 cawn fiel' an' got sot in my ways, so Miss Cora 
 gin up tryin'. Dat yaller nigger, Caesar, could 
 talk mos' as good as de white folks kase he wuz 
 brung up in de big house. He wuz book larnt by 
 his young Mahster foli de Dabneys bought him. 
 He sutny did 'stonish me wid his big words! Dat 
 wuz one way he try to cut me outen Dinah. 
 
 "Arter dat I tuk a fool notion to talk big lak 
 Caesar. So w'en young Mister Carleton call to 
 see Miss Cora, I tol' her: 
 
 " 'Mister Carleton inquested to pay his sibili- 
 ties to her pussonality.' Dat jes' whut he tol' me; 
 but w'en I tol' Miss Helen she say:
 
 A Church Yard Story 27 
 
 '' 'AVhatf 
 
 "Den I tol' her ag'in an' she kivered her face 
 wid her fan, an' Dinah laughed right out. 'Pears 
 to me dat yaller gal wuz allers laughin' at me. I 
 b'lieve she lak to show dem white teef o' hem. 
 But she wuz sutny a lakly lookin' gal. 
 
 ''Well, I gin up dat parlor talk whut Caesar 
 an' Dinah an' de white folks used, an' arter dat I 
 spress myse'f as I knowed how. So you see, suh, 
 I cain' trabel over de groun' lak a dog arter a 
 rabbit in spressin' myse'f; but. Law bless you, as I 
 wuz a sayin', I'm a gittin' dar." 
 
 The old man stopped a moment, lifted his 
 ragged hat, wiped his kinky gray hair reflectively 
 with his hand several times, cleared his throat, 
 took an easier position on the old mouldering 
 horse block, and resumed. 
 
 ''Well, suh, as I wuz a sayin', some o* Miss 
 Cora's frien's on Silver Crik, or de 'Azoo Eiver, 
 writ fur her to come an' spen' a mont' dar. So she 
 went, an' Ole Miss' sont me along wid Miss Cora 
 to tek keer o' her trunks an' things, an' see dat 
 she got dar safe. Dinah wuz sick an' couldn' go. 
 I tell you, dey couldn' git along widout Pompey 
 in dem days. Hit wuz Pompey dis an' Pompey 
 dat all de time. I made de urrer niggers stan' 
 aroun', I tell you! Ole Miss' trus' me wid ev'y-
 
 28 A Church Yard Story 
 
 thing, an' she knowed Miss Cora wiiz plum safe 
 if I go long wid her. 
 
 "Well, suh, we druv to Medfiel' an' tuk de rail- 
 road eyars an' come to Vicksbu'g. Dar Miss Cora 
 spen' sev'ral days wid some o' her frien's an' 
 'quaintances 'foh she tnk de boat up de 'Azoo 
 River. One day Miss Cora sont me up town fur 
 sumpin' an' I lak to git los' 'mungst all dem 
 houses; an' I never seed sich imperdent niggers 
 as wuz drivin' de hacks aroun'. One lak to diniv 
 clean over me, an' den ax me whut I mean by 
 stan'in' in de middle o' de street wid my mouf 
 an' eyes wide open lak a fool. An' I up an' toP 
 him if he git down offen dat box fur a minute, I 'd 
 mek his mouf an' eyes open wussern mine,— a 
 lazy, good fur nuffin' nobody, a 'sultin' gemmun 
 of color as wuz a 'havin' deyselves. I tole him I 
 b 'long to de Dabneys whut owned moh niggers 'n 
 his mangy bosses had hairs on dey poh ole bodies, 
 an* I riz to come at him w'en he gin his two crit- 
 ters a cut an' flew down de street. I tell you, dat 
 nigger wuz skeert, he wuz, ' ' and Pompey indulged 
 in another resounding kee-yaw-yaw. 
 
 "Arter dat I wuz steppin' out putty lively to 
 mek up fur lost time wid dat nigger, w'en I pass 
 a barber shop kep' by a free nigger. He wuz 
 stan'in' in his doh an' see me kiverin' de groun* 
 w'en he axed me if I wuz a travelin' or gwine
 
 A Church Yard Story 29 
 
 some whar. I turn my head quick, an' tole him 
 I wuz fool huntin' an' I done foun' whut I come 
 fur. Laws-a-mussy, but he wuz bilin' w'en I say 
 dat. I tell you, sah, hit takes Pomp to dress dese 
 free niggers down an' lam 'em dey place, an' 
 liow to 'have deyselves to gemmun o ' color. Yes, 
 Lawd ! 
 
 ''Arter a few days, Miss Cora's frien's went 
 down to de big landin' to see her off on de 'Azoo 
 River boat, whut wuz to leave at five o'clock. 
 Mussy on me! I nuvver see so many boats in all my 
 life as dey wuz down at dat wharf, a puffin' an' 
 a blowin' dey whistles! 'Pears to me lak I seed a 
 hunder'd. Some wuz a comin' in an' some wuz a 
 backin' out, till I wuz dizzy. I couldn' count de 
 niggers rollin' cotton bales an' bar 'Is, an' packin' 
 boxes on dey shoulders, while de mates wuz a 
 cussin' an' a rarin'; an' de Cap'n wuz way up on 
 de topmos' deck walkin' roun' lak Julius Caesar. 
 
 *'Miss Cora's frien's had to gin her farewell at 
 de w'arf, kase we got dar so late; so Miss Cora 
 say good-by to 'em all, an' de Cap'n, lookin' as 
 proud as a peacock lit out over de stage-plank 
 wid Miss Cora on his arm, an' me a follerin' wid 
 all dem shawls an' hat boxes an' um'brels, whilst 
 a whole lot o' gemmuns stood leanin' 'ginst de 
 g>^ards o' de boat a lookin' dey eyes out at Miss 
 Cora.
 
 30 A Church Yard Story 
 
 *'I tell you, suli, w'en she come up dem steps 
 an' stood by de aidge o' de gyards, a smilin' an' 
 a wavin' her putty white han' to her frien's on 
 de she', dem gemmuns quit lookin', right den an' 
 dar at ev'ything but Miss Cora. 
 
 '^Jes den, w'en de las' bell wuz a tollin' lak a 
 fun'ral, an' de mate wuz a hollerin', an' de niggers 
 wuz a draggin' in dat big plank, an' a singing 
 'Yo-ho-yo-e-oh,' an' de boat wuz a backin' out, I 
 seed a young man runnin' 'cross de w'arf to'ard 
 de plank dat wuz six foot away. Some gemmun 
 hollered : 
 
 '' 'Don' risk it— look out dar— an' some ladies 
 scream out. But shoo! dat young man, 'thout 
 lookin' up ur stoppin', tuk a flyin' jump an' lit on 
 de plank as easy as a bird; an' come runnin' down 
 dat slantin' boa'd as uncunsarned as if he wuz on 
 de street. 
 
 ''I notice he wuz a pow'ful han 'some young 
 man, wid a big black moustache an' black curly 
 hair; an' w'en de urrer women screech Miss Cora 
 nuvver say a word, but look at him as if she tryin' 
 to 'member sumpin'. 
 
 **De Cap'n seem to know him an' say: 
 
 '* 'Dat wuz a risky jump, Mister Faulkner.' 
 
 *'An' de young man jes smile an' sayd, keer- 
 less lak: 
 
 " 'I been in greater danger oftentimes, Cap'n.'
 
 A Church Yard Story 31 
 
 An' w'en he sayd dat lie tuk hizse'f off to de gem- 
 mun's cabin. 
 
 ' ^ Den it wuz I 'gins to 'member dat young man 
 whut de Cap'n call' Mister Faulkner. I says to 
 mvse'f, dat's ole Ginnul Faulkner's son wliut's 
 been gone 'roun' de worl' dese five ye'r an' moh'. 
 
 ''While T wuz stan'in' thinkin' bout w'en I seed 
 him las', as a boy, w'en de folks sont him way up 
 Norf to college, I hyerd a sudden crash behin' me 
 lak heaven an' yearth wuz comin' togerrer. I riz 
 in de air an' would a sho landed in de middle o' 
 de river, but I jes ketched myse'f in time, an' 
 lookin' 'roun' I seed a li'l pop-eyed nigger a hit- 
 tin' a piece o' sheet i'on wid a bass drum stick an' 
 makin' sich a racket I couldn' hye'r my own ye'rs. 
 My breaf wuz putty nigh gone, but I manage to 
 holler in his ye'r an' ax him in de name o' de 
 Lawd, whut wuz de mattah! An' he leenst over to 
 me an' say, in confidens, dat I wuz de infunneles' 
 fool nigger he ever seed; dat supper wuz ready 
 fur de white folks, an' dat de niggers could go 
 below whar dey b'long. An' den he up an' tol' 
 me dat sich a fool nigger as I wuz could go to a 
 still wusser place. Den he tu'n away, making dat 
 piece o' sheet i'on growl down de cabin lak a 
 dyin' varmint moaning' hitse'f to death. 
 
 '*! wuz sho glad Miss Cora didn' see me gin dat 
 jump; but if I could ur had dat nigger whut
 
 32 A Church Yard Story 
 
 'suited me, in my lian's jes a few minutes, I'd a 
 made a gong out o' him an' dey'd a liyerd him 
 hollerin' clean back to Vicksbu'g— dey would 
 dat! You hyer me say so! I sutny wuz mad wid 
 dat nigger, an' hit wuz a full hour foh I could 
 git my riled feelin's smooved out. 
 
 ''Arter supper Miss Cora sot out on de front 
 deck a lookin' at de lights o' Vicksbu'g, as we 
 went 'roun' de big hoss-shoe ben', fur mos' a hour. 
 De Cap'n, an' de clerks w'en de Cap'n wuzzen 
 'roun', an' a lot o' urrer gemmun, who got dey- 
 se'ves interdooced, wuz a hoppin' an' a skippin' 
 roun' Miss Cora, an' showin' her dis an' pintin' 
 her dat, tell hit would a run some folks 'stracted ; 
 but Miss Cora, she hilt her own an' laugh an' talk 
 back pleasan ' tell I thought I nuvver see her 'pear 
 so han'some. I stayed close by an' kep' my eyes 
 on Miss Cora, an' if anybody had dassun to say a 
 word to her whut wuzzen right, I'd a bust his haid 
 wide open if dey kilt me de nex' minute. 
 
 ''Wunst Miss Cora tu'n an' look at me an' say, 
 'Pompey, hev you had yoh supper?' an' anurrer 
 time, 'Are dey treatin' you well on de boat, Pom- 
 peyr 
 
 **W'en some o' de gemmun hyerd her talk dis 
 way to me, an' foun' out I wuz her nigger, dey 
 pass by me sorter keerless lak an' say, 'Hyer's 
 ha'f a dollar fur you, Pompey,' an' some time it
 
 A Church Yard Story 3 
 
 n 
 
 wuz, 'Pompey, youse a clever feller. Hyer's a 
 dollar fur you.' Well, suh, I got nigh on to five 
 dollars dat niglit." 
 
 Again the " kee-yaw-yaw " laugh shot from the 
 lips of the negro as he recalled the effect of the re- 
 flected beauty of his young Mistress upon his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Hit wuz w'ile all dese gemmun wuz a talkin' 
 an' a scrapin' 'roun' Miss Cora dat I seed Mister 
 Faulkner ag'in, leanin' ag'inst de gyards smoking 
 a seegar an' looking back at de lights o' Vicks- 
 bu'g we wuz a leavin' behin'. Wunst I seed him 
 turn an' look at Miss Cora w'en she gin one o' 
 her musical laughs dat used to set Major Sin- 
 clair half crazy. At de same time I see Miss Cora 
 look at him, an' dey bofe look steady at each urrer, 
 'peared to me, fur 'bout a minute. Den Miss Cora 
 turn to answer one o' de scrapin' gemmun, an' 
 Mr. Faulkner look back at Vicksbu'g. Bymby I 
 ketch 'em lookin' at each urrer again an' den 
 dey bofe turn quick an' nuvver look no moh. T 
 say to myse'f, 'Hi.' Dat's all I sayd, but I thunk 
 a heap. 
 
 ''Well, suh, arter while Miss Cora say she's 
 tired, an' would retire. So sayin' good-night to 
 all, an' tellin' me to take kyer o' myse'f, she re- 
 journed to ber state room. 
 
 "Dey put me way up iu de place call' de Texas,
 
 34 A Chwxh Yard Story 
 
 or Mexico, I dunno which; but shoo! I wuzn't 
 gwine stay up dah dat fur fum Miss Cora! Whut 
 if de boat tuk fire an' Miss Cora bu'n up? Whut 
 I g:wine to say to her Ma w'en I see her? Naw, 
 sah! I riz right up fum dat Mexico place, an' I 
 say to myse'f, 'I's gwine to go down close to whar 
 Miss Cora is.' So I krep' out on de herrikin 
 deck, an' made my way vahy keerful to de back 
 steps. 
 
 "I stayed at de eend o' de boat a minute lookin' 
 'roun'. We done got outen de Miss'ippi, clare 
 th'u' de Ole Eiver, an' wuz now way up de 'Azoo. 
 De paddle wheels on bofe sides o' de boat wuz a 
 makin' music as dey hit de water; two steam pipes 
 close to me wuz a sayin',— korf-korf, korf-korf,— 
 an' de ole boat wuz a trim'lin' an' a shakin. Outen 
 de top o ' de big chimleys whut wuz bigger 'n taller 
 'n a gum tree, de sparks wuz Sying' an' de smoke 
 come pourin' out up dar in two long trails an' 
 got mixed, tell dey look lak two big snakes a 
 twis'in' deyse'ves togerrer way down de river an' 
 a crawlin' arter us. 
 
 "Jes den I looks for'ard an' see Mister Faulk- 
 ner a walkin' up an' down on de henikin deck wid 
 dat everlastin' seegar in his mouf. I laugh in 
 my sleeve an' say, *I speck he cain' res' fur 
 thinkin' o' Miss Cora.' Den I went down de back 
 stairs an' hunted fur Miss Cora's room. I kep' a
 
 A Church Yard Story 35 
 
 tappin' firs' at one doh an' den anurrer, till at 
 las' I come to de right room, an' w'en Miss Cora 
 hyer me, she say in dat sof ' way o' hem, 
 
 ** 'Is dat you, Pompeyl Whut is de mattah. Is 
 dare any trouble ? ' 
 
 " 'No, Miss Cora,' says I, 'dah ain' no trouble 
 yit, but dey mought be some, an' I come hyer to 
 be close to you if sumpin' do happen.' 
 
 "Den she ax me won't I be discumfertable out 
 dah; an' I tell her 'No, ]\[aam', kase 'twuz a wahm 
 night an 'I purfurs to be out dohs. 
 
 "Well, suh, I lays down in de comer, 'hin' some 
 trunks so de watchman couldn' see me, but close 
 to Miss Cora's doh, an' presny I drapt off in a 
 light doze. I speck I mus' a slep three ur foh 
 hours, w'en all to wunst dat boat gin a big jar an' 
 went to tr'm'lin' an' a shakin' lak a nigger wid a 
 swamp chill. I runs for'ard an' de li'l bells wuz a 
 jinglin' down on de b'iler deck, an' de mate an' 
 de rousterbouts an' deck ban's wuz a runnin' 
 'roun' an' cussin' tuhrbul. Den somebody holler 
 out dat de boat hed struck a snag an' wuz gwine 
 down. Somebody else holler, wake up de passen- 
 gers an' 'foh 'twuz outen his mouf I dun fly back 
 to Miss Cora, an' wuz poun'in' on her doh, an* 
 hollerin' to her to wake up quick, dat de boat wuz 
 sinkin'. But she, de Lawd bless her angel soul, 
 wuz so tired fum all dem three days runnin' 'roun'
 
 36 A Church Yard Story 
 
 in Vicksbu'g dat de jar an' trimlin' o' de boat, 
 all de rousterbouts gwine on, an' all de 'citement 
 down stairs, an' me callin' to her, nuvver move 
 her. So I hit de doh ag'in an' I hyer her sof 
 sweet voice sayin', 
 
 *' 'Is dat you, Pompey? Whut's de matter!' 
 
 "An' I holler back, 'fur Gawd sake. Miss Cora, 
 git up quick an' open dis doh; de boat's sinkin' 
 an' sinkin' fas'. Quick, chile, hurr}^ or we'll all 
 be drownded.' De nex' secon' I hyer her bahr 
 foot hit de floh, an' hyer her tryin' to open de doh. 
 Den she call out, 
 
 " 'Pompey, sumpin's de matter wid de doh!' 
 
 "Jes den I feel de boat sett'lin' for-ard an' a 
 careenin' over to one side an' a trim'lin all over 
 whilst de women wuz a screechin' an' men holler- 
 in', an' de tables, cheers an' chandeliers wuz a 
 smashin' inside de cabin. 
 
 "Den I ciy out quick to Miss Cora, wid my 
 heart in my mouf an' tears runnin' down my face, 
 
 "Miss Cora, run outen yoli front doh an' down 
 de cabin to de back doh at de eend an' I'll be dah 
 to meet you an' he'p you. An' I hyer her say as 
 cool as a cucumber, 
 
 " 'All right, Pompey,' an' her front doh bang, 
 an' I kno'd she wuz gone. Den I tell you, I done 
 sum fas' runnin' an' got 'roun' de back gyards to 
 meet her. Jes den de ole boat gin anuiTer sot an'
 
 A Church Yard Story 37 
 
 sudge for'd, an' siimpin' orful heavy fell agin de 
 doll befoh me an' I couldn' budge it. I holler fer 
 Miss Cora an' dah wuz no answer. I looked lak a 
 crazy nigger, an' wuz gwine 'stracted fas' w'eu 
 I hyer somebody jumpin' down de back steps an' 
 I see Mister Faulkner wid his face white an' his 
 eyes blazin.' He ketched me by de shoulder an' 
 say: 
 
 " 'Whar Miss Dabneyl' 
 *'An' I bust out a cryin an' say: 
 *' 'She in dah som'ers an' I cain git to her.' 
 "Den he tuk de floh mop in his han' an' gin dat 
 doh sicli a smash dat ev'y pane o' glass wuz bus' 
 to pieces. Den wid his fingers a trem'lin' he toh 
 out mos' o' de sash, cuttin' his ban's as he done it, 
 an' tried to git th'u', but de boat had sot dis way 
 an' dat way, an' flung de funnicher ag'in de doh 
 an' block hit up. Den he call to her an' nobody 
 answer. Den he tuk a long look up de cabin an' 
 sayd: 
 
 " 'Thank God, yonder she is'; an' de nex' 
 minute he done lef me an' wuz flyin' up stairs 
 an' me arter him. Dare wuz no time to lose, 'case 
 de boat wuz sinkin' fas'. I see him take up a axe 
 an' bre'k in de transum. I wuz wid him w'en he 
 pull it out an' we bofe look in; an' dah de cabin 
 wuz full o' water, wid tables an' cheers an' dead 
 folks floating' aroun'. De water had riz up to
 
 38 A Church Yard Story 
 
 de ceilin' in de gemmun's cabin, an' wuz puttin' 
 out de lights w'en we look in. Den we look de 
 urrer way, an' dah, almos' right under us, wuz 
 Miss Cora in her white night gown an' long black 
 hair fallin' over her shoulders an' pinned bow- 
 dashusly to de wall. Dah she wuz, wais' deep in 
 water, an' pinned tight by dem big dinin' tables 
 an' things, so she couldn' move herse'f, ur lif ' her 
 ban's. Mister Faulkner spoke up to her lak light- 
 nin'. 
 
 '* 'Miss Dabney, are you hurt?' 
 "An' she look up lak she sorter dazed, an' wid 
 a faint smile say: 
 
 " 'Sumpin' has struck me, I b'lieve.' Den Mr. 
 Faulkner, stoopin' way down, sayd: 
 
 '' 'I cain' quite reach yoh shoulders to lif you 
 up ; kin you raise yoh ban 's to me ? ' 
 
 "She shuk her head an' look up, an' den we see 
 her fix: she wuz pinned in an' hilt down by dose 
 varus contrapshuns in de cabin. Now, all dis tuk 
 place fob a man could say Jack Roberson an' 
 count twenty ef I is slow er tellin' it. De nex' 
 thing, I hyer Mister Faulkner say : 
 
 " 'I hate to do it, but I mus' save you any way,' 
 an' Lor' bless you, dat man take dat big scrum- 
 shus suit o' Miss Cora's hair in his ban's an' lif 
 her clare up by it jes ' as de boat gin anurrer roll 
 an' flung de tables offen her. Den, 'fob dey roll
 
 A Church Yard Story 39 
 
 back, Mister Faulkner had a good holt on her arms, 
 an' wid de veins a stan'in' out in his forrid lak 
 cords, he drug her th'u the transum, an' toted her 
 in his arms to one o' de boats dey keep on de 
 herrikin deck. He made her lay down on some 
 baggin' he flung in de boat, an' den quicker 'n a 
 flash he tuk his black dress coat off an' put it 
 roun' Miss Cora snug an' nice. 
 
 **De nex' thing dat man do, an' I nuvver see a 
 man so quick on de trigger, he whip out his knife, 
 cut de ropes tyin' de boat to de deck, put two oars 
 in, an' den stoppin' fur de fus' time an' wipin' 
 his face wid his han'kercher, he say to me as we 
 bofe wuz leanin' 'g'inst de boat, 'if de boat sink 
 now we kin float off safe in dis.' 
 
 ''AH dis time Miss Cora nuvver say a word. Her 
 face wuz mighty red w'en Mister Faulkner put 
 his arms roundst her, an' pack her to dat boat; 
 but w'en he put his nice black coat roun' her she 
 look up gra'ful at him an' I see a sof ' look in her 
 eyes w'en dey wuz on him; so I say to myse'f, 'Hi' 
 again. I tell you, suh, you cain' fool dis nigger 
 bouten some things." 
 
 "Wliat became of the steamboat?" I asked, 
 really interested in the story. "Did she go to the 
 bottom, and vou three float off down the stream?" 
 
 "Naw, suh, an' yes, suh, bofe. Wile Mister 
 Faulkner wuz savin' an' taking keer o' Miss Cora,
 
 40 A Church Yard Story 
 
 de ole boat tu'n her head outen to'ards de middle 
 o' de river an' settled down on de bottom wid her 
 hin' eend, whar we wuz, lif ' up so dat de bow, as 
 dey call it, wuz all outen sight; but de two big 
 chimleys wuz p'intin' up at de stars lak de toes 
 uv a dead nigger. Mister Faulkner tole Miss Cora 
 de boat would sink no moh, an' if it did he could 
 fetch her safe to sho' anyhow." 
 
 "What became of the other passengers?" I 
 asked. 
 
 ''Some uv 'em wuz drownded an' some tuk to de 
 boats an' pull down de river fur help. You see, 
 dah wuz a big overflow dat spring, an' de banks 
 o' de 'Azoo Eiver whar we wuz havin' our mis'ry 
 wuz kivered wid water, an' dey couldn' Ian' dah. 
 Some o' de gemmun dat wuz so spry roun' Miss 
 Cora de foh part o' de night wuz pyerched up on 
 bales an' planks not fur fum us, but as dey didn' 
 have all dey close on, dey kep' a speckful distance 
 fum Miss Cora. Some had on one thing an' some 
 anurrer, an' some had on skasely nothin' 'tall. 
 Mister Faulkner, as he tole Miss Cora, had nuvver 
 gone to bed. He sayd he couldn' sleep; so dar he 
 wuz all fixed up nice, cep'n his coat, whut he done 
 flung 'roun' Miss Cora. Dem men had him fenced 
 off fum her de ev'nin' befoh, but bless yoh soul, 
 honev, he sholv had 'em fenced off on de herrikin 
 deck dat night. 'Feared to me Mister Faulkner
 
 A Church Yard Story 41 
 
 au' Miss Cora got to un'erstan^in* each urrer 
 pow'ful well dat night on sich short 'quaintance. 
 Dey nuvver say much, but whut dey did say, hit 
 sholy counted. 
 
 *' While we wuz all dah waitin' fur de row boats 
 to come back fur us, we hyerd a steamboat whis- 
 tle up de river. I tell you ev'ybody wuz sho' glad. 
 All de men got bol' an' started to bet whut steamer 
 hit wuz, an' some o' de ladies tuk de hyxterics. 
 We hyerd her comin' closter and closter, her pad- 
 dles a hittin' de water a mile away, an' de big bell 
 soun'in' fur de cotton Ian 'in 's. B>^nby we seed 
 her come sweepin' roun' de ben' o' de river, wid 
 her lights an' big black chimleys, an' piled all 
 'roun' wid cotton bales. All de gemmun got to 
 hollerin' an' wavin' dey hankerchers, but she 
 seed us 'thout dat, an' blowed her whistle an' toll 
 her bell, an' come a bearin' down on us, an' drap 
 down stream a ways an' den move sof ' back up to 
 us. Well, suh, I hyer dem river men a hollerin' an' 
 a splainin' to each urrer, an' a cussin' cross de wa- 
 ter foil de boat flung a single plank to us. I tell 
 you, suh, dem river men warn' no ways 'ligious. 
 Dey wuz a cussin' foh de boat sunk, an' a cussin' 
 w'en she wuz gwine down, an' a cussin' w'en tur- 
 rer boat arriv', 'Twas cussin' all de time. 
 
 ''Well, twam' fifteen minutes foh we wuz tuk 
 aboard, an' dey wuz a projickin' 'roun' in de
 
 42 A Church Yard Story 
 
 cabin to see if anybody done lef ' a livin' in dah. 
 Wile dey at dat Mister Faulkner axed me ef I 
 know whar wuz Miss Cora's trunk. I tole him 
 one wuz on de forrer'd deck an' now at bottom o' 
 de river, an' de urrer one Miss Cora had move* 
 close to her room on de back gyards. 
 
 ' * Well, suh, I nuvver seed sich a man. He swung 
 hisse'f over de side o' de roof, slip down de pes', 
 an' me arter him; an' bless you, we fin' dat trunk 
 all kivered up wid urrer things. I see Mister 
 Faulkner gin de Mate five dollars, an' dat trunk 
 in jes no time wuz settin' by Miss Cora's state- 
 room doh, as peaceful as if nuffin ever done 
 happen. Den Mister Faulkner sont me to tell her 
 de trunk wuz dah. Wen I tap at Miss Cora's 
 doh, an' tole her whut Mr. Faulkner say, she nuv- 
 ver say nuffin for a minute, an' bym-by she put out 
 her putty han' an' gin me Mister Gerald's coat 
 an' sayd: 
 
 ** 'Kerry it to him at once, Pompey, an' tell him 
 I say ter please take keer o' hizse'f.' I walks 
 down de cabin wid de coat, an' as I go I say ter 
 myse'f, ^Hi!' 
 
 "We got back to Vicksbu'g nex* ev'nin', an' 
 Miss Cora gin up her Silver Crik trip. She 'lowed 
 dat her Ma would be 'stracted; 'sides ha'f her 
 cloze wuz in de bottom o' dat 'Azoo River; an' so 
 she lit out fur home an' me wid her. Mister Ger-
 
 A Church Yard Story 43 
 
 aid seed Miss Cora off at de kyars. I hyerd him 
 tell her he compel to go up de nex' day to one o' 
 his Pa's plantations, an' he hope to see her agin 
 in two weeks. 
 
 *'Den Miss Cora say fur him not to hurry his- 
 se'f; dat cotton an' com an' levees wuz vahy im- 
 portan' an' mus'n be neglected fur nuffin ur 
 nobody. Den she look away 'cross de hills 'roun' 
 Vicksbu'g as if she did'n know Mister Faulkner 
 wuz stan'in' close by her a hoi 'in' out his han' to 
 say good-bye. 
 
 ''I jes' wonder whut meks women folks so 
 aggervatin'. Dat wuz de vahy way Dinah use' to 
 treat me sometimes; an' special' w'en dat yaller 
 nigger, Caesar, wuz 'roun'. But Lor' bless you, 
 w'en me an' Miss Cora done got back, an' Dinah 
 an' all de res' hear 'bout de tuhrbul steamboat 
 'sperience, an' how I hope to save Miss Cora's 
 life— Shoo! Caesar don' stan' no moli chance 
 arter dat wid Dinah. An' dat Caesar up an' tol' 
 Dinah dat if he had been dah he'd done more'n 
 me; dat he'd a got Miss Cora outen dat place wid- 
 out de hope o' Mister Faulkner. But hit woudn' 
 do, an' Dinah 'gin to look sof ' on me fum dat vahy 
 time. 
 
 "In 'bout two weeks I notice Miss Cora gittin' 
 onresless. She 'peared mighty intrusted in read- 
 in' de Vicksbu'g papers 'bouten de 'rival o' de
 
 44 A Church Yard Story 
 
 boats an' sich lak. One day Ole Miss say to her: 
 
 " 'Cora, I didn' know you lak to read de 
 papers. ' 
 
 "An' Miss Cora say sumpin' keerlees, an' lier 
 face git red lak a peony. 
 
 '*De valiy nex' ev'nin' Ole Miss an' Miss Cora 
 wuz sittin' on de front gal'ry talkin' wid Major 
 Carlisle, Ole Miss's brudder fum Virginny, whut 
 spen' a few weeks wid de famly ev'y ye'r. Hit 
 wuz a pleasan' ev'nin' in May jes' fob sun down. 
 I wuz waterin' Miss Cora's plants by de dob 
 steps, an' some locusses wuz singin' dey moanful 
 song in de trees. I kin byer dem locusses to dis 
 day. 
 
 ''Pres'ny, I byer Major Carlisle say dat de 
 locusses wuz increasin' an' dat dey all bad tbe let- 
 ter W on dey wings, an' people say bit token 
 trouble a comin', an' de letter W showed whut hit 
 wuz gwine to be. Ole Miss laugh an' say, 
 
 '' 'Hit mus' be war, fur de overflow has already 
 come an' we have de trouble o' water.' 
 
 "Den Major Carlisle say, blowin' de ashes often 
 his seegar, dat AV stood fur urrer troubles 'sides 
 war,— dat be done 'membered bearin' wine an' 
 women put in dat lis', an' we mus' not furgit dat 
 W stan' fur woe bitse'f. 
 
 "Den Miss Cora sj)eak up an' sayd, she b'lieve'
 
 A Church Yard Story 45 
 
 dey wuz superstitious; an' jes den I hyer Major 
 Carlisle say, 
 
 *' 'Whut a splendid hossman dat is ridin' yon- 
 der. ' 
 
 ' ' We all look up an ' see a young man cant 'rin ' 
 'long de big road on a fine black boss. De boss 
 wuz skittisb an' skeery, but his rider sot him lak 
 dey wuz one piece. Wen he come to our big gate 
 de gemmun stop an' raise de latch, an' we could 
 see him th'u' de trees comin' roun' de av'nu' 
 cun^e, an' ridin' up to'ards de house whar we wuz. 
 I look jes once an' knowed who 'twuz. Den I look 
 quick fur Miss Cora, an' she done gone! I tu'n to 
 Major Carlisle an' say, 
 
 *♦ 'Dat's Mister Gerald Faulkner, sah.' 
 ''Well, dey sutney wuz glad to see him an' in- 
 shured him so. Ole Miss look lak she never leggo 
 his ban' an' call him her daughter's pursurv'^er. 
 Den she told me to have Mister Faulkner's boss 
 tuk to de stable at once. Major Carlisle wuz 
 pow'ful perlite, too. Den dey bofe 'gin to say, 
 * Whar is Cora ? ' An' jes den Miss Cora step outen 
 de hall lookin' so putty dat I see Mister Faulk- 
 ner's eyes look lak dey wuz eatin' her up, an' bis 
 voice had a kin' o' trimble as he say, 
 *' 'Miss Dabnev, do we need to be interdoocedf 
 "I bad been wond'rin' whut make Miss Cora
 
 46 A Church Yard Story 
 
 lef so sudden w'en she seed Mister Gerald comin'. 
 Dab she been lookin' fur him fur days, an' now 
 w'en he gits in sight an' wuz mos' dab, she run 
 away. I axed Dinah 'bout sicb 'havior, an' she 
 toss her haid an' sayd, we men folks wuz stoopid 
 an' couldn' see tb'u' a mill stone wid a bole in it. 
 
 ''Howsomever, I sayd to Dinah dat I nuvver 
 seed Miss Cora look puttier in mab life, an' dat 
 she sutny wuz too putty fur any one man in de 
 worl'. Den Dinah snap me up ag'in by axin me 
 bow many men I speck Miss Cora to marry. I 
 tried to sass her back, but she lef me fob I could 
 'spress myse'f. I tell you. sub, women folks is sho' 
 cur 'us. 
 
 ''Arter w'ile dey all went in de libra 'y an' I 
 hyer 'em laughin' an' gwine on wid some mob 
 comp'ny whut drapt in, so I went out an' sot on 
 de front steps a lis'nin' to de locusses an' thinkin' 
 'bout whut Major Carlisle say 'bout dat W on dey 
 wings. 'Pears to me I kin hyer dem locusses sing- 
 in' to dis vaby day. Hit wuz sboly a solumcholly 
 tune. 
 
 *'Arter dat day, dab wuz great kerryin's on at 
 de big bouse, an' whut wid rides an' picnics an' 
 parties an' sicb lak, de summer pass away an' Fall 
 come. I kep' wond'rin' when Mister Gerald an* 
 Miss Cora gwine fix dat thing up whut wuz bear- 
 in' so on dey min's. Sev'ral times I see Mister
 
 A Church Yard Story 47 
 
 Gerald gittin' ready to speak, an' Miss Cora would 
 tu'n hit off, ur jump up an' say she didn' know 
 whar her fan wuz, an' all sich talk. Women is 
 sutny cur 'us an' aggerv^atin'. 
 
 "Bymby, Mister Gerald quit comin' an' nigh 
 a whole mont' pass an' no Mister Gerald. Den 
 we hyer he wuz gwine 'roun' a good deal wid a 
 young lady whut wuz vis 'tin' his Pa an' Ma, an' 
 dat she wuz pow'ful han'some, an' folks sayd she 
 had ketched Mister Gerald. I hyerd Major Car- 
 lisle talkin' 'bout it to Ole Mistis at de breakfas' 
 table, an' I notice Miss Cora talk mighty gay but 
 she don' eat nuffin. 
 
 "A few nights arter dat de big house wuz full 
 o' comp'ny, an' Miss Cora wuz movin' 'roun' 
 dressed in black velvet an' di'mon's, an' lookin' 
 lak a queen. Sev'ral gemmun wuz a skippin' 
 'roun' her, as usual, w'en Mister Gerald Faulkner 
 wuz 'nounced an' walked in. He soon come to 
 Miss Cora wid his ole bright smile, but w'ile she 
 wuz monst'ous perlite to him, she hilt him off to 
 anns' length, an' sholy friz him. She axed him 
 how he been de pas' mont', an' 'foil he could say 
 a word she tu'n aroun' an' smile at anurrer gem- 
 mun in sich a way as sot de li'l feller half 'stracted. 
 I see Mister Gerald tu'n a Strang s 'prise' look at 
 Miss Cora an' walk away. He nuvver look at her 
 no moh, but spoke to dis one an' dat one in his fine
 
 48 A Church Yard Story 
 
 lian'some way, an' den I liyer him makin' his 
 senses to Major Carlisle fur leavin' so early, an' 
 axed fur his hoss to be brung 'roun'. Den I see 
 him slip outen de room quiet. Miss Cora went on 
 talkin' as if she nuvver see nuffin, nor know nuffin; 
 but w'en Mister Faulkner walk outen dat room, 
 I tell you she knowed it. I had sont de order fur 
 Mister Gerald's hoss an' he wuz come; an' I wuz 
 at de eend o' de gal'ry lookin' at him a champin' 
 on de bit an' a stampin' de groun', w'en I see 
 Mister Gerald come down de steps, an' walk 
 to'ards de hoss rack under de trees an' 'gin to 
 onhitch him. He wuz mos' ready to mount, w'en 
 I seed Miss Cora come outen de consuvvatory an' 
 stan' in de shadder o' de trees close to him 'foh 
 he sees her, an' I hyer her say mighty sof ' lak, 
 
 ^' 'Are you goin' so soon?' 
 
 "He tu'n quick an' sayd, 
 
 '' 'Why should I not go?' 
 
 'VDen I hyer her answer in dat meller voice o' 
 hem, 
 
 *' 'Of co'se, if youse tired o' us an' purfur to go, 
 we kin say nuthin'. 
 
 "Arter a few secon's Mister Gerald speak up 
 an' say, 
 
 "You seemed so indif'rent to-night I thought 
 my absence would be nuthin' to you.' 
 
 ' ' Den Miss Cora answer,
 
 A Church Yard Story 49 
 
 '* 'I wuz no moh indif 'rent to you 'an you been 
 to us for de las' mont'.' 
 
 "I seed Mister Gerald look close at Miss Cora 
 an' say, 
 
 '' *I could not he'p mahse'f. Mah cousin, Miss 
 Hayes, has been wid us a mont' an' I had to be her 
 escort an' couldn' leave.' 
 
 " 'Wuz she yoh cousin?' Miss Cora axed him, 
 lookin' up quick. 
 
 '' 'Yes,' says Mister Gerald, 'mah firs' cousin.' 
 
 "Miss Cora's haid 'gin to droop at dat an' she 
 made li'l marks on de groun' wid de toe o' her 
 shoe. Bymby, lookin' up sideways at Mister Ger- 
 ald, she sayd, 
 
 ' ' ' Mus ' you leave so soon ? ' 
 
 "An' Mister Gerald say low. but I could hyer 
 him, 
 
 " 'I would love nuvver to leave you ag'in.' 
 
 "Den I see his haid ben 'in' over her, w'ile her 
 face wuz hid. Arter w'ile I hyer him say, 
 
 ' ' Cora, I love you wid mah whole soul ; will you 
 let me stay an' nuvver go away?' 
 
 "Miss Cora's haid kep' a goin' down, an' he 
 sayd ag'in, 
 
 " 'Will vou, Cora?' 
 
 "Den I seed Miss Cora lif her face to his an' I 
 see him put his arms 'roun' her an' dey kiss one 
 long kiss. Den Miss Cora say quick,
 
 50 A Church Yard Story 
 
 ** *Lemme go, somebody will see us.' 
 
 **An' Mister Gerald say, 
 
 ** *I don' keer if de whole worl' see us. You 
 are mine.' An' he kiss her ag'in an' ag'in, w'ile 
 his big black boss wuz champin' de bit an' stamp- 
 in' de gravel. 
 
 ''But bymby Miss Cora tell him she mus' go, 
 dat de comp'ny would be axin fur her; so arter 
 Mister Gerald say 'plague take de comp'ny,' an' 
 he done tuk a dozen moh kisses, he toh hizse'f 
 away, an' rid in a gallop down de road, w'ile Miss 
 Cora slip back th'u' de cunsuvvatory an' into de 
 parlor. In a few minutes 1 see her in dab wid de 
 people an' her black eyes wuz a dancin' an' her 
 cheeks wuz a blazin' red, an' I 'clare to gracious 
 she wuz too putty fur anything. 
 
 "I hyer one o' de gemmun ax her whar she git 
 de roses in her cheeks; wuz hit de wuk o' de Lawd 
 or o' man. An' Miss Cora laugh an' say she 
 wouldn' answer sich a question. Den I laugh to 
 mahse'f, kase I knowed a thing or two. 
 
 "Arter dat, dah wuz moh kerryin's on an* 
 parties an' sich lak, an' soon ev'ybody knowed 
 'bout de 'gagement. 
 
 "Well, de weddin' day wuz 'p'inted fur Thurs- 
 day, de tent' o' June. My Lands! whut a time 
 o' fixin' up dah wuz in de big house. Dey bought 
 noo funnicher an' carpets, doh whut dey had wuz
 
 A Church Yard Story 51 
 
 sutny fine 'nougli. A lot o' de laklies' women in 
 de qualiters wuz bning up to de house to 'sist de 
 house suvvants in de extry work. Den whut a 
 bakin' an' a bilin' an' a cookin'! Me an' Caesar 
 wuz sont on hossback all over de country a kerry- 
 in' de invites to de Seymours, de Shelbys, de Car- 
 letons an' all de big folks. On top o' dat de 
 'lations of Ole Mahster an' Ole Mistis come all de 
 way fum Virginny to see de mahiage. De house 
 wuz full o' comp'ny fur days 'fore de time, an' 
 Miss Cora wuz in an' out' 'mungst 'em happy as a 
 bird. 
 
 '*De mahiage wuz to take place on de momin' 
 o' de tent' o' June, an' dey wuz to go Norf on a 
 bridal tower. Mister Gerald had gone to Noo Or- 
 leens on biz'ness an' wuz to 'rive on de nint'. He 
 had sont two o' his trunks an' dey wuz put in de 
 room sot apart fur him. 
 
 ''On de eight' o' June, in de artemoon— My 
 Lawd! I kin never furgit dat day— hit makes me 
 sick to dis hour to members it. De gemmuns wuz 
 a smokin' dey seegars on de gal'ry, an' de ladies 
 wuz in de libra 'y, ur in dey rooms, w'en we see 
 a man gallopin' up de road lak mad. Does you 
 know, suh, w'en I seed dat man a tearin' along, 
 I feel down inside o' me dat sumpin dreffel gwine 
 happen. 
 
 "I wuz on de gal'ry,— me an' Caesar— passin'
 
 52 A Church Yard Story 
 
 roun' some cups o' coffee w'en I see dat man tu'n 
 in our big gate an' come a lopin' up de road dat 
 swircled roun' th'u' de grove up to de house. I 
 notice de gemmun put down dey cups an' seegars 
 an' look steady at dat man. Dah had been a rain 
 dat ev'nin an' de man's cloze wuz all splashed wid 
 mud; an' w'en he flung hizse'f outen de saddle an' 
 come walkin' quick to de house, I notice his boss 
 wuz kivered wid lather, an' trim'lin' an' blowin' 
 fit to kill. Some o' de gemmun seem to know de 
 man an' tuk his ban' an' axed him anxious lak, 
 *' *Is anything de matter?' 
 ''An' he sayd, as solemn as de grave, 
 " 'Bad nooz, indeed.' 
 
 "Den he inquested de gemmun to meet him in 
 de parlor, an' not let Ole Mistis ur Miss Cora be 
 dah. So w 'en dey got in, dah wuz a whole clump 
 o' ladies who done smelt trouble a 'ready. Den dey 
 all crowd 'roun' him an say, 
 " 'Fur God's sake, tell us whut's de matter.' 
 "An' de man tuk a tillygraph outen his pocket 
 an' read wid his voice low, an' Dinah copy hit fur 
 me arterwards : 
 
 ' New Orleans, June 8, 1859. 
 Charles F. Brown, 
 
 Medfield, Lliss. 
 Gerald Faulkner was shot and killed here to-
 
 A Church Yard Story 53 
 
 day. Letter by mail. Break news to the Dabneys 
 at once. What must be done with the body? 
 
 George Ellerton.* 
 
 **As soon as de las' word done been read de 
 gemmun say all roun' de room, My Gawd! and, 
 Good Gawd! Den some one say, don' let Miss 
 Cora hyer dis. Let it be broke to her gentle. An' 
 ef I live to tell it, right dah befoh our eyes wuz 
 Miss Cora, white as death, stan'in' in de doh' 
 'twixt de two parlors wid de porcher curtains 
 fallin' bout her lak a pictur. She look at us all 
 wid ur awful look in her eyes, an' say, 
 
 " 'Whut has happen'? Is dare any trouble?' 
 
 **W'en she say dat, some o' de ladies put dey 
 han'herchers to dey eyes an' cried. Nobody seem 
 willin' to bre'k dat sweet young heart. An' so 
 Miss Cora tuk a step for'd an' wid her han' on her 
 breas' a clutchin' her dress she say, 
 
 " 'Tell me whut has happen'.' 
 
 ''An' ole Major Carlisle, whut wuz her uncle, 
 come up to her an' tuk her han' an' sayd, 
 
 " 'Gawd pity you, Cora. Gerald Faulkner wuz 
 shot an' killed in Noo Orleans to-day.' 
 
 "Ef I live to a thousan' ye'r I kin never furgit 
 de look Miss Cora tu'n on dat man an' de folks 
 stan'in' roun'. She nuvver say one word, but
 
 54 A Church Yard Story 
 
 jes put her ban's dis way over her heart, an' fell 
 back on de flob, straight as a shingle, an' lookin' 
 lak she wiiz dead as a dob nail. Ev'body com- 
 mence' runnin' byer an' dab, callin' fur dis an' 
 callin' fur dat, an' nobody paying no 'tention to 
 nobody, w'en I jes drap down by her an' say, 
 
 " '6b, Miss Cora! Please, ma'am, don' tek on 
 so. Jes speak a word to yob pob nigger. Ain' I 
 yob nigger? Dis is Pomp a talkin' to you, Miss 
 Cora. Don' you h'yer me. Miss Cora?' 
 
 ''An' so I jes wen' on, a wringin' mab ban's lak 
 I wuz stracted, an' so I wuz. But Miss Cora 
 nuvver say one word, nur open her eyes; but lay 
 all white an' still wid bofe ban's over her heart, 
 jes so. 
 
 "De nex' t'ing I know Ole Mistis wuz in dab, 
 an' I tell you, sub, she riz to de 'casion. She wuz 
 awful kam, but she gin orders roun' dab dat 
 minded me o' Ole Mahster. She had Miss Cora 
 move right up in her room. Some o' de ole fam'ly 
 frien's— Ginnul Sinclair, an' Judge Curtis, an' 
 Major Carlisle, Ole Mistis 's brudder, lif ' up de pob 
 crush' chile, an' toted her up stairs wid tears a 
 drappin' down dare cheeks as dey went. Den Ole 
 Mistis had de dob shet, an' bad Miss Cora rubbed 
 an' fanned, an' sont one o' de suvvants a tearin* 
 on hossback arter a doctor.
 
 A Church Yard Story 55 
 
 " 'Twuz mos' a hour 'fore Miss Cora open her 
 eyes, an' whut you reckon she sayl She call her 
 Ma to her, an' as Ole Miss' ben' over an' say wid 
 trem'lin' lips, 
 
 " * Whut's de mattah, daughter, whut kin we do 
 for you f ' 
 
 "Miss Cora look up wid dat same 'spression I 
 have seen in a deer's eyes w'en he been shot, an' 
 say, 
 
 *' 'Mother, I want his body ship hyer at once, 
 an' buried in de chu'chyard.' 
 
 '*01e Mistis, wid de tears runnin' down her 
 cheeks, nodded her haid an' say, wid a choke in 
 her voice : 
 
 *' 'Hit shall be done, my chile.' 
 
 "Ole Miss' no sooner sayd dis an' riz to go, w'en 
 Miss Cora put her two ban's over her heart, jes 
 lak she done befoh, as if it wuz breakin', an' den 
 wid a wail dat dev all hverd down stairs, an' broke 
 us all down ag'in, she cry, 
 
 " '0, my poor heart. It will sholy break. 0, 
 Lawd, have mercy on me. ' 
 
 "Den her Ma an' sev'ral o' de ladies run back 
 to her an' coo over her, an' pet her an' say, 
 
 " 'Yes, darlin', He will have mercy on you. He 
 will help you, dear.' An' you hyer me, suh. Miss 
 Cora done gone off ag'in in one o' dem dead faints.
 
 56 A Church Yard Story 
 
 I wuz Stan 'in' at de doh w'en all dis wuz gwine 
 on, wid mah heart all bus' to pieces, an' cryin' fit 
 to kill. I slio love Miss Cora, suh. 
 
 **Bymby de ladies fotch Miss Cora to ag'in wid 
 dey ban ' mbbin ' an ' smellin ' salt.. Den de Doctor 
 come an' gin her sumpin to quiet her, an' lef* 
 d'rections fur de ladies to leave de room. So dey 
 all wen' down stairs, an' Ole Miss' went out to 
 gin some moh orders, an' dah wuz Miss Cora 
 layin' white an' still on de baid, an' her eyes 
 closed, an' nobody in de room but Dinah, an' me 
 outside in de hall a settin' on de floh wid mah 
 haid ag'in de doh, an' mah tears a drippin' on de 
 carpet. I speck I mus' grieve louder 'n I think, 
 w'en I hyer Miss Cora's voice, sof an' low, 
 
 '' 'Who's dat at de doh, Dinah?' 
 
 **An' Dinah say, 
 
 ** * 'Tain' nobody but Pompey, Miss Coral' 
 
 *'Den I hyer Miss Cora say, 
 
 ** 'Tell him he kin come in fur a minute.* 
 
 *'Wen I tip in an 'see Miss Cora layin* in de 
 baid wid her face as white as de sheet, her black 
 hair flung down on de pillow an' her eyes bumin* 
 lak fire wuz inside, I tell you, mah breas' wuz dat 
 sore I could skasely draw mah bref. W'en Miss 
 Cora hyerd me comin' in she tu'n dem bu'nin' eyes 
 on me an' retch out her putty white han' an' say,
 
 A Church Yard Story 57 
 
 " 'Dear ole fai'ful Pompey, ain' you soriy fur 
 your poh Mistis ? ' 
 
 **Den it look lak de whole t'ing rush over her 
 ag'in, an' puttin' her han's over her heart, she gin 
 one o' dem cries— sich a lonesome cry— dat I 
 'clare to gracious I thought it would sholy bus' 
 my heart. Dinah wuz cryin' at de foot o' de baid, 
 an' I fell down by de side o' de baid a sayin', 
 
 '' 'Miss Cora, fur de Lawd's sake don' tek on 
 so. You gwine kill yohse'f an' all us too.' 
 
 "By dis time Ole Miss' an' some o' de ladies 
 come a runnin' ujd de stairs in de room, kase dey 
 all hyerd Miss Cora w'en she gin dat lonesome 
 crj'', an' dah wuz Dinah crjdn' an' me a cryin' wid 
 mah haid on de carpet by de side o' de baid, an' 
 Miss Cora lookin' lak she wuz done dead ag'in. 
 Ole Miss sont me outen de room wid a message, an' 
 as I come down stairs I see de ladies an' de gem- 
 muns bofe wuz a crying an' a usin' dey hanker- 
 cliers pow'ful. 
 
 "I tell you, suh, Ole Miss' she riz to de 'casion. 
 In ten minutes she wuz down stairs ag'in, an' 
 sont off orders lak a Cap 'n. She writ a tillygraph 
 to de gemmun whut sont de nooz, an' anurrer to 
 her lawver in Noo Orleens, telling him to have de 
 body emba'm an' sont right on de firs' train. She 
 say in de tillygraph to 'spatch her full 'tic'lars o'
 
 58 A Church Yard Story 
 
 Mister Faulkner's death at her 'spense. I hyerd 
 her read it to ole Judge Curtis an' Major Carlisle. 
 Den she inquested one o' de gemmun at de house 
 to take de 'spatch to Medfield an' sen' back de 
 answers by safe ban's; an' in les'n five minutes we 
 hyerhis boss flyin' down de road. She sont a mes- 
 sage to de man she hire to keep de chu'chyard all 
 right, 'bout diggin' de grave. She writ to Ginnul 
 Faulkner an' tol' him de sad nooz an' 'formed him 
 dat Miss Cora wants de fun'ral fum de house, an' 
 crave de priv'lege dat de body be buried back o' 
 dey chu'ch whar she could see de grave frequen' 
 an' tek keer o' hit. Yes, suh, Ole Miss' did all 
 dem t'ings an' moh, too. She riz to de 'casion dat 
 night, she sholy did. 
 
 ''Dar wuz mighty li'l res' fur us in de big house 
 dat night. Hit look lak folks wuz a comin' an' a 
 gwine all de time. An' go to de dob w'en vou 
 would, you could hyer de boss's hoofs, er cliperty- 
 cliperty-cliperty up an' down de road. 
 
 "Den nobody keered to go to baid tell dey hyer 
 fum de tillygraphs whut Ole Miss' sont to Xoo 
 Orleens. De gemmun smoke an' talk on de gal'ry 
 a w'ile an' den come whar de ladies wuz in de 
 libra 'y an de parlor. Ev'vbodv wuz onres'less 
 lak. 
 
 "Hit wuz jes ha'f pas' twelve o'clock w'en I 
 hyer de big gate slam, an' a boss a gallopin' up de
 
 A Church Yard Story 59 
 
 av'noo an' stop in front o' de house. De gemmun 
 all crowd on de gal'ry an' watch de man whut 
 fotch de message fum de office as he gin it to Major 
 Carlisle. I seed de Major gin de man twenty dol- 
 lars whut Ole Miss' tol' him to han' him w'en he 
 come. Eight dah on de front po'ch, wid de ceilin' 
 lamp shinin' on de comp'ny, an' de man stan'in' 
 on de groun' by his hoss dat wuz all in a lather an' 
 sweat lak de urrer hoss whut brung de firs' mes- 
 sage,— right dah Major Carlisle, wid his fingers 
 a trem'lin', tore de yaller 'velope open an' read 
 de 'spatch. I disremembers de zack words, but hit 
 run sorter dis way : 
 
 " 'Altercation wid voung lawyer. Lawyer 
 struck. Faulkner challenge to duel. Met in ole 
 fiel' nigh de city. Faulkner fell at de firs' fire 
 shot th'u' de haid, an' died instant. Body bein' 
 emba'm. Ship earlj^ to-morrer. ' 
 
 "De nex' day look lak hit neyer would end. 
 Hosses an' kerriges kep' a comin' an' a gwine. 
 Niggers wuz a flyin' roun' an' de white folks 
 whisperin' bout de house. Wen de night come 
 de graye been dug an' de fun'ral notices sont all 
 over de countrj^ 
 
 ''Arter supper, de gemmun sot on de po'ch a 
 talkin' in low voices lak dey did de night befoh. 
 At nine o'clock dey come in de libra 'y 'mungst 
 de ladies an' ev'vbodv wuz talkin' low.
 
 60 A Church Yard Story 
 
 ''Bymby I hyer de hall clock strak ten. Hit 
 sounded valiy moanful. I wuz walkin' jes arter 
 dat, 'long side o' de house to'ard de front w'en 
 hyer come Dinah runnin' lak one 'stracted an' 
 ketched hoi' o' me an' sayd, 
 
 '* 'De huss is comin' up de road.' 
 
 '*I look an' dah sho 'nough comin' up de av'noo 
 wuz two black hosses drawin' de huss. De ha'f 
 moon wuz a peepin' th'u' de trees an' I could see 
 de big plumes on de huss a wavin' an' a noddin'. 
 Dinah gin one skeered look, an' sayin', 
 
 " 'Hit's bad luck to meet a huss,' she lit out an' 
 lef me. 
 
 "I come to de front an' foun' dat ev'ybody in 
 de libra 'y had liyerd de wheels an' had come out 
 on de gal'ry to meet de body. Dah wuz sev'ral 
 buggies an' kerriges wid some gemmun frien's 
 wid de huss. In a li'l w'ile dey brung Mister 
 Gerald in his fine casket into de back parlor. 
 
 "I sot on de steps an' cried. Dis wuz de vahy 
 night he wuz to 'rive to be mahied an' hyer he wuz 
 done brung home in a huss, dead an' boxed up in 
 a coffin. Hyer he wuz to be mahied de nex' day, 
 an' Lawd-a-Mussy, he wuz buried de vahy day an' 
 hour he wuz to hev been mahied. 
 
 ' ' De whole country come to de fun'ral. I never 
 seed so many kerriges an' hosses in mah life. De 
 Sinclairs an' de Seymours an' Curtis 's an' Mor-
 
 A Church Yard Story 61 
 
 daunts an' ev'ybody come. Ginnul Faulkner an' 
 his two daughters wuz dah, but dey nuvver got 
 outen dey kerrige. Miss Cora kep' to her baid 
 an' nuvver see Mister Gerald, an' nuvver went to 
 de fun'ral. 
 
 **Bout two weeks arter de fun'ral Miss Cora 
 walk over to de chu'ch to see de grave. She gin 
 her orders dat no one go wid her, but Ole Miss' 
 made me f oiler her, an' stan' off, unbeknownst to 
 Miss Cora, to tek keer o ' her ef she need me. 
 
 *' Wen she come to de grave I seed her fling her- 
 self right down on it an' gin dat same lonesome 
 cry. I don' t'ink Miss Cora move fur one hour, 
 so I gits up an' creep close an' say, 
 
 ** 'Miss Cora, fur de Lawd's sake don' kill us 
 all. You is sholy gwine do it ef you tek on so.* 
 
 "Den she lif herse'f up an' tu'n to me an' say, 
 
 '' 'Pompey, mah heart is broke. You mus' all 
 be patient wid me a li'l w'ile till God gives me 
 strength.' 
 
 * ' IShe no more 'n say dat w 'en she th 'owed her- 
 se'f on de grave ag'in wid her arms 'bout it, a 
 cryin' out, 
 
 '' '0, Gerald! my darlin'! my darlin'! Can't 
 you speak to me? Won't you ever come back to 
 me! 0, my God! my God! how can I stan' it?' 
 
 *' 'Fore I could say a thing I look up an' hyer 
 wuz Ole Miss' comin', an' down de road dah wuz
 
 62 A Church Yard Story 
 
 de kerrige. Ole Miss' sot down by de grave an' 
 
 took Miss Cora in her arms, laid her haid on her 
 
 breas', an' kiss her, an' talk to her soothin' fur a 
 
 long time. Bymby dey got up wid me foUerin' 
 
 'em, an' got in de kerrige an' druv back to de 
 
 house. 
 
 ''Arter dat Miss Cora order dem foil unas you 
 
 see yonder, an' dat i'on cheer an' w'en she got 
 
 stronger she use to come hyer ev'y day an' sit 
 
 one an' two hours by dat grave. Fur nigh on to 
 
 two years I don' think Miss Cora miss a day com- 
 
 in' to dat grave an' sittin' in dat i'on cheer. She 
 
 gin orders dat nobody f oiler her, but ole Miss' 
 
 made me go quite frequent at firs' kase she feel 
 
 oneasy. Hit's been now 'bout thirty year, an' I 
 
 kin see Miss Cora yit,as plain as if it wuz yistiddy, 
 
 in her black dress settin' in dat cheer wid her 
 
 cheek on her han' an' her eyes fixed on dat stone 
 
 at her feet, whut kivered de man she love. ' ' 
 ******** 
 
 As Pompey finished his story the sun was near 
 the western horizon. A few rays of golden glory 
 touched the tree tops, and the broken summit of 
 the church tower; but the woods around were 
 filled with dusky shadows. The church looked 
 more ruinous than ever, and the lonely tomb and 
 vacant chair beside it were invested with a melan-
 
 A Church Yard Story 63 
 
 choly, intensified an hundred fold by the narra- 
 tion of the story of these sundered lives. 
 
 We both stood silently looking at the sepulcher 
 with the four urns and solitary chair, all of which 
 were plainly visible from our position. It re- 
 quired but little effort on the part of the mind to 
 imagine we saw the black robed young woman 
 once more in her lonely vigil, who had so often and 
 long sat there in other years, by the side of, her 
 dead lover. 
 
 Again the ** caw-caw" of a crow fell on my ear 
 as he winged his midair flight above the grove, 
 toward his night roost in the distant forest. The 
 mournful note brought to mind the thought of 
 Poe's Raven, and that bird's drearj" utterance of 
 ' ' Nevermore. ' ' 
 
 Taking the reins of my horse in my hand, and 
 preceded by Pompey, I walked down the path, 
 through, and out of the grove, to the better lighted 
 high road which had been left a couple of hours be- 
 fore. As I placed a shining silver dollar in the 
 negro's hand, off went his ragged hat while from 
 his lips came the single word, 
 
 *'Sah!" 
 
 This I knew from long acquaintance with the 
 negro in the South to be the abbreviation of a 
 fen-ent "thank you, sir."
 
 64 A Church Yard Story 
 
 Mounting my horse I noticed my companion of 
 the afternoon, as, with pleased expression, he 
 turned the coin over several times and looked at 
 it from various angles. Glancing up he said, 
 
 "Dinah will sho' be proud ter git dis dollar." 
 
 '*So," interrupted I, ''you got Dinah, and Cae- 
 sar didn't." 
 
 *'You dun tole the truf now, honey. Dat nigger 
 Caesar git Dinah? Shoo! He nuvver stan' no- 
 whar side o' me," and Pompey brought out a 
 "kee-yaw-yaw" that scared the birds out of the 
 hedge. 
 
 *'I suppose you brought her to terms in some 
 way." 
 
 '*Dat I did, Boss. Dar I wuz, a losin' my appy- 
 tite bouten' her, tell I jes med up my min' I wuzn' 
 gwine to stan' it no longer. So I pent her up in 
 de comer o' de pantry one night an' axed her ef 
 she gwine to mah'y me. She tole me I bettah 
 put some moh ice in de cooler foh Ole Miss git 
 arter me. An' I sayd a yaller gal name' Dinah, 
 dun funnish me wid all de ice I wants fur my 
 cooler an' ev'y urrer cooler I ever seed. Den she 
 try to run pas' me, an' I kotch her as she go. She 
 pull desprit an' say she got to comb Miss Cora's 
 hair. An' I say Miss Cora dun been in baid er 
 whole hour. Den Dinah say, lookin' out de cor- 
 ners ' her eyes at me,
 
 A Church Yard Story 65 
 
 " 'What you say you want, PompeyT 
 
 "An' I say, grippin' her tighter, 
 
 " 'I want you.' 
 
 '*An' she laugh and say, 
 
 " *I sholy think you got me without axin. Ain't 
 your An' I says, 
 
 ** *I means fur life. Won't you, Dinah!' 
 
 *'An' she bust out laughin' an' say, 
 
 " 'Yes, she reckin so, as hit cain' be hep't.' 
 
 '*Den I gin her a kiss dat she say soun' all 
 over de house, an' she brek away fum me. I axed 
 her wliut nieks her pester an' aggervate me so 
 all dis pas' time, an' she laugh an' show dem white 
 teef an' say, she love to devil me. 
 
 "0, yes, suh, me an' Dinah dun been mah'ied 
 mos' thirty ye'r." 
 
 ''I am glad to hear it," I replied, "but there 
 is one thing I wish to know before I leave you, 
 and that is, what has become of Miss Cora Dab- 
 ney. Is she still living?" 
 
 "Yes, suh, dat she is, an' mah'ied an' got three 
 chillun. ' ' 
 
 "Well, that surprises me," I said, "I thought 
 she would have been true to the memorj^ of tlie 
 man in the grave." 
 
 "Lor', suh. Miss Cora never want to mah'y. 
 Her heart is right out dar, in dat tomb, dis blessed 
 day."
 
 66 A Church Yard Story 
 
 "Why did she marry, then," I asked. 
 
 ''Well, suh," replied the negro, leaning upon 
 the fence with one arm on the top rail, "Does 
 you speck de single gemmun gwine let sich a 
 fine woman as Miss Cora scape dey fingers ef 
 dey kin he'p it? Naw, sah, preachers an' law- 
 yers an' doctors all tuk arter her; but Miss Cora 
 don' pay no 'tention 'tall to none uv 'em. 
 
 ' ' Bymby a monst 'ous fine gemmun come f um Ole 
 Virginny. Ole Miss' knowed all his folks. Dey wuz 
 de Dashleighs whut live on de Jeems River, an' 
 wuz awful rich. His county sont him to de Legis- 
 latur' an' he hilt his own wid de bes' uv 'em fur 
 two y'er. Den he tuk hizse'f off to Noo York 
 an' sot up in law up dah. He had some big case 
 or nuther whut brung him out hyer to Jackson 
 an' he run out to see Ole Miss' an' Miss Cora, an' 
 he sholy got a nurrer case on his ban's de instan' 
 he see Miss Cora. He come w'en Mister Gerald 
 Faulkner done been kilt moh'n a y'er. I see fum 
 de firs' he wuz pow'ful tuk wid Miss Cora; but she 
 scacely notice him, 'cep'n to be perlite case her 
 Ma knowed all his folks. He wuz monst 'ous nice 
 to her an' brung her books fum town, an' flowers 
 an' music an' all sich. Den he tol' her pleasan' 
 things an' try to mek her furgit her sorrer. He 
 sutny work fai'ful on dat noo case o' hisn. He 
 wuz'n lak Major Sinclair, whut wanted to charge
 
 A Church Yard Story 67 
 
 right over Miss Cora lak he done in de Rig'ment; 
 but Mistah Dashieigh sot down fur a rig'lar siege. 
 
 "He had to go back to Noo York fur a w'ile, 
 but bress yoh soul, honey, dat Jackson bus'ness 
 done git so 'portan' he had to come right back. 
 I sholy laugh 'bout dat Jackson bus'ness, kaze 
 he spen' moh time a comin' an' a gwine to Miss 
 Cora den he gin to dat Jackson town. 
 
 *'I speck six mont's done gone by w'en he tole 
 Miss Cora he love her. I nuvver hyerd him, but 
 Dinah did. She wuz dustin' de funnicher in de 
 back parlor w 'en she hyer him 'spress hizse 'f dat 
 way. Dinah tol' me 'bout it, an' say Miss Cora 
 gin him a 'No' dat sont him a double summerset. 
 But shoo! dat never stop dat man. He jes stay 
 away a couple o' days nussin' his woun's an' 
 come ag'in at Miss Cora jes as perlite as ever, 
 bringin' her some moh books an' flowers an' sich 
 lak. 
 
 '' 'Twam' long arter dis, dat Ole Mistis' health 
 commence decavin' an' den she died, an' Miss 
 Cora done lef by herse'f in de big house. How- 
 somever, one o ' her aunts f um Old Virginny come 
 down an' stay wid her. 
 
 ''AH dat time Mister Dashieigh make hay w'ile 
 de sun shine. He hope Miss Cora in her bus'ness 
 an' rid to dif'rent places fur her. I notice he 
 nuvver tire Miss Cora lak Major Sinclair did. He
 
 68 A Church Yard Story 
 
 knowed when to come an' how long to stay. Den 
 he allers wuz so kin' an' perlite. Bymby some o' 
 Miss Cora's frien's an' 'lations say to her, 
 
 " 'Cora chile, whut mek you live sich a lone- 
 some life? Why don' you mah'y Mister Dash- 
 leigh whut 's dying wid love fur you ? ' 
 
 "So hit all come 'roun'. One day w'en Mister 
 Faulkner been daid an' buried two ye'r, Mister 
 Dashleigh speak ag'in to Miss Cora 'bout his 
 'stressed state o ' f eelin 's fur her. Dis time I hyerd 
 liim. He axed Miss Cora to walk in de cunsuvva- 
 tory wid him, an' I stop to tie my shoe close to 
 de vahy doh whar I hyer Major Sinclair tek on 
 so in de 'spressin' o' his f eelin 's dat night. So I 
 hyer Mister Dashleigh tell Miss Cora, as solium 
 as w'en he make dem big talks to de Judge an' 
 de ju'y in de Cou't House, dat he love her as he 
 nuvver love anurrer woman, an ' dat if she be his 
 wife he'd be de proudes' man in de worl' an' try 
 his bes' to mek her happy. 
 
 ''Arter dat I nuvver hyer nothin' fur full two 
 minutes. 'Feared lak dey mus' hyer my heart 
 thumpin' 'hin' de flower shelves. Den Miss Cora 
 say, slow an' sof ', 
 
 * ' ' Would you want to mah 'y a woman w 'en her 
 heart is buried in de grave o ' anurrer man ? ' 
 
 ''An' Mister Dashleigh answer quick dat he
 
 A Church Yard Story 69 
 
 wuz willin' to 'gin wid her respec' an' dat he wuz 
 sho he could git her love arter while. 
 
 "Den I hyer Miss Cora gin a long sigh, an' 
 lookin' th'u' de bushes I see 'em stan'in' apart, 
 he wid his anns folded lookin' at her, an' she 
 lookin' down at a ring Mister Faulkner gin her, 
 an' she wuz tu'nin' it 'roun' an' 'roun' on her 
 finger. 
 
 *' At las' she look up an' say dat she respec' him, 
 an' hev a jinnywine frien'ship fur him,— but she 
 doan love him. Dat her heart wuz buried in de 
 grave o' Gerald Faulkner. Dat if he wuz content 
 to tek her dis way she would mah'y him. Den 
 she hilt out her han' to him, an' he drapt on one 
 knee, lak Major Sinclair, an' press' her han' to 
 his lips. Dat wuz all. Den dey walk outen de 
 cunsuvvatory togerrer. I tell you, 'twuz sorter 
 cool lak. 'Twarn' lak dat monlight night I see 
 her haid drap on Mister Gerald's shoulder, an' 
 he arms go 'roun' her, an' two folks look lak one. 
 Naw, suh, 'twarn' lak w'en Dinah 'cepted me in 
 de pantrj^ Dinah made out she want to git away, 
 but I kotch her vahy easy foh she retch de doh. 
 Well, women folks is cur'ous, anyhow, ain't dey, 
 Boss!" and out came another hearty kee-yaw- 
 vaw. 
 
 "I suppose," said I, interrupting him in order
 
 70 A Church Yard Story 
 
 to bring him back to the story, ''that they finally 
 got married?" 
 
 *'Yes, suh, dey wuz mahied in a few mont's. 
 Dey had a vahy quiet weddin' dey call it, jes a 
 few o' de neighbors wuz dar,— de Seymours, de 
 Shelbys an' de Carletons. De Faulkners wuz all 
 in Europe. Arter de mahiage seh'mony, dey lef ' 
 de same day. De big house wuz shot up an' hit 
 done stayed shot up ev'y sence." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that they moved away 
 and never came back ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sah, das so. Dey live now in Noo York 
 City. Miss Cora never been back hyer but once,— . 
 dat wuz nigh on to fifteen ye'r ago an' moh. She 
 an' Mister Dashleigh an' de chillun come out fum 
 Medfiel' in kerriges to spen' a week. Dey had 
 writ dey wuz comin' an' we had de house aired 
 fum top to bottom, fires bumin' in de rooms an' 
 ev'ything lookin' bright an' cheerful. 
 
 "Wen de kerrige driv up to de doh dah wuz 
 me an' Dinah 'rayed in our bes' cloze to welcome 
 'em. De firs' thing dat Dinah did wuz to kiss de 
 chillun, an' den she flung her arms 'roun' Miss 
 Cora an' bus' out crj^n'. Miss Cora say to her, 
 
 " 'Is dis de bes' welcome you got fur me?' but 
 I notice her own voice wuz ur shakin'. Den she
 
 A Church Yard Story 71 
 
 
 hilt out her han' to me an' say, jes lak her ole se'f, 
 'Ever is my fai'ful Pompey.' 
 'Twuz all I could do to keep fum disgracin* 
 myse'f an' bustin' out lak Dinah, but I hilt in, doh 
 de tears wuz runnin' down my face. 
 
 *' 'Peared to me dat Miss Cora wuz han'somer 
 'n ever, but her black eyes look lak sumpin' wuz 
 hurtin' her heart. 
 
 *'De chillun wuz soon rompin' over de house, 
 an' Mister Dashleigh rid out over de plantation. 
 Prezny I miss Miss Cora. She warn' no whar to 
 be foun' in de house. I had to go over to my cabin 
 on de side o' de hill yonder fur sumpin', an' com- 
 in' back I tuk a nigh cut th'u' de orchid an' riz 
 de hill whar de woods roun' de big house come 
 down to de side fence. As I glance up I see Miss 
 Cora leanin' gin de fence an' lookin' cross de fiei' 
 to'ard dis chu'ch gi'ove we jes lef '. She nuvver 
 see me, so I squat down in de weeds an' watch her. 
 Her arm wuz on de top rail, her cheek on her han' 
 an' her eves wuz fixed on de grove. I knowed 
 whut she come down dar fur an' who she wuz 
 thinkin' 'bout. I knowed she wuzn' thinkin' 
 'bout de man who wuz ridin' over de plantation, 
 but 'bout de man who wuz lyin' in de col' 
 grave 'hin' de chu'ch. She look so lonesome in 
 her black hat an' dress, wav down dar in de woods
 
 72 A Church Yard Story 
 
 by herse'f dat I thought my heart would sholy 
 break. 'Peared to me she never move fur a ha'f 
 liour, but kep' lookin' to'ards de ole chu'ch as if 
 she couldn' tear herse'f away. Bymby I see her 
 put her face on her arm a while; den she look up 
 at de sky a minute, an' den walk slow up th'u' 
 de woods to de big house. 
 
 *'Dat night she nuvver come down to supper, 
 an' Mister Dashleigh say dat instid o' stayin' a 
 week, his wife had conclude to return de nex' day, 
 an' dey would all leave in de mawnin'. 
 
 *'An' so dey did. De kerriges wuz brung out, 
 an ' dey all got in an ' driv off. De las ' 'memb 'ance 
 o' Miss Cora dat I has wuz her big black sorrerful 
 eyes at de kerrige winder, while she retch out her 
 putty white han' an' say, 
 
 * ' * Good-bye, dear ole Pompey. ' 
 
 ''Den dey driv off down de road, whilst me an' 
 Dinah wuz lef ' stan'in' by de front steps. 
 
 ''Bymby Dinah say to me, 
 
 " 'Whut mek 'em leave in sich a hurry? Ain' 
 de house fine 'nough sence dey been to Noo York 1 ' 
 An' I say to Dinah, 
 
 ** 'De house ain' got nuffin' 'tall to do wid it.' 
 Den arter I 'lowed Dinah to coax me some time, I 
 up an' toP her whar I seed Miss Cora de ev'nin' 
 befoh, lookin' to'ards Mister Gerald Faulkner's 
 grave.
 
 A Church Yard Story 73 
 
 "Soon as I say dat, Dinah sot right down on 
 de font steps an', flingin' her white ap'on over 
 her haid, she bus' out cryin' an' goes to rockin' 
 herse'f back'ard and for'ard an' sayin', 
 
 '* 'Poh chil', poh dear honey, poh broken heart- 
 ed lam', 'tell I couldn' see nuffin down de road ur 
 up de road ur nowhar else; an' I sot down on de 
 
 steps by Dinah an' we cry togerrer." 
 
 ******** 
 
 My own eyes were full at the simple recital of 
 the affectionate servant before me. Yet I had one 
 more question to ask him. 
 
 '^You say that Miss Cora, or rather, Mrs. Dash- 
 leigh, never comes back. Has she forgotten you 
 and Dinah and your love and past services to 
 her?" 
 
 The negro instantly straightened himself, 
 and with a tender look in his eyes as he glanced 
 toward the "big house" and then back at me, re- 
 plied, 
 
 "Miss Cora furgit me an' Dinah? Naw, sir-ree! 
 Why, suh, arter de war close, an' we wuz all sot 
 free. Miss Cora gin us dat house on de side o' de 
 hill yonder an' twenty acres o' groun'. Den she 
 sot me up wid a boss an' a mule an' two cows 
 an' lots o' urrer things. An' dat ain' all. Dar 
 ain' a Chris 'mus comes, suh, but she 'members 
 us wid a box wid things in it fur me an' Dinah.
 
 74 A Church Yard Story 
 
 Naw, suh, Miss Cora doan furgit us. She is big 
 hearted lak all de Dabneys. Doan you think dese 
 is my bes' cloze. I got firs' class cloze in de chis' 
 at home whut Miss Cora done sont me; an' so is 
 Dinah. Naw, suh, Miss Cora doan furgit her ole 
 niggers. De Lawd know she doan. ' ' 
 
 Taking the hand of the faithful and grateful 
 negro, I bade him farewell and rode away in the 
 direction of Medfield. 
 
 The sun was now completely down. The 
 shadows were filling the valley and stealing over 
 the broad sedge covered fields. I had still eight 
 miles to ride, but could not resist the impulse to 
 stop a few minutes and look back from the top of 
 a neighboring eminence. 
 
 I could see Pompey making his way toward his 
 cabin that sat now in full view before me on the 
 side of the hill. He had resumed the hymn I had 
 interrupted and was singing his way up the path 
 which led to his humble home. A blue line of 
 smoke was ascending from the chimney, proclaim- 
 ing the evening meal, while a female, whom I 
 supposed to be Dinah, was standing in front of 
 the house and looking down the road for the ap- 
 proach of her tardy husband. 
 
 From this scene I turned my eyes to the Big 
 House, which sat as Pompey described, ''all shot 
 up," on the forest crowned slope. How desolate it
 
 A Church Yard Story 75 
 
 looked with its closed doors and windows, and 
 empty, silent yard! I thought of how the woods 
 waved in richest green about it in the spring and 
 summer, and no one was there of the old house- 
 hold to enjoy its shade and beauty. In the fall 
 and winter I could imagine how the winds tossed 
 the yellow leaves about and roared through the 
 stripped and creaking branches, and the sound 
 would be like a wail over the bright departed 
 days, and for the vanished fonns which once lived 
 and loved in this forsaken dwelling, but now, 
 were gone forever. 
 
 My eyes then fell last on the dark grove nearer 
 to me in which were the ruined church, the grave- 
 yard, and the lonely tomb with its four urns and 
 iron chair sitting empty by its side. 
 
 Then my mind took a swift flight to a far dis- 
 tant city where a bereaved heart was doubtless 
 trying to meet the duties and burdens of life 
 bravely and faithfully, and yet bearing all the 
 while a mental load which she could not, and 
 would not, speak of to another. As I thought 
 of her I said to myself: 
 
 "The tomb in the churchyard is lonely and for- 
 saken, but not forgotten. The man who sleeps 
 there under the sod is actually glorified and made 
 to live on by the beautiful undying love of this 
 queenly woman."
 
 76 A Church Yard Story 
 
 It was with an effort I finally turned away from 
 the contemplation of scenes which held me with 
 such power. In a little while the gloaming merged 
 into night, and under the quiet stars, along hedge- 
 lined roads, and through fields of yellow whisper- 
 ing sedge, I rode silently and thoughtfully back 
 to Medfield.
 
 THE BALLANTYNES 
 
 77
 
 The Ballantynes 
 
 MR. BALLANTYNE 
 
 The naming of the children by his wife had been 
 a great grief of mind to Mr. Ballantyne. He had 
 regarded the choice and application of proper 
 cognomens to his immediate descendants as one 
 of the indisputable rights pertaining to the male 
 head of the family. He was equally convinced of 
 his superior taste in such a selection, when lo! 
 Mrs. Ballantyne took the whole matter out of his 
 hands, or rather head, and named them all. 
 
 Mr. Ballantyne 's original expectation had been 
 that he would be blessed with three sons and as 
 many daughters. His intention, in keeping with 
 the anticipation, was to name the girls, Faith, 
 Hope and Charity, and the boys were to be called 
 after three great generals, or three of the prophets, 
 or three of the patriarchs; he himself inclining to 
 Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. 
 
 Two things utterly broke into the plan of Mr. 
 Ballantyne, who, by the way, was very much given 
 
 79
 
 80 The Ballantynes 
 
 to day dreaming. One of these colliding facts was 
 that the hoped for trios did not materialize, but 
 couples appeared instead. So he had more names 
 than children. 
 
 The other cause has already been intimated in 
 the firm will and way of Mrs. Ballantyne. She 
 scouted at both ideas; saying if the girls were 
 named in the order her husband mentioned, even 
 granting they were three in number, yet it would 
 prove a positive contradiction of Scripture, which 
 plainly declares that the greatest of the three is 
 charity; when the very opposite would be the case 
 in their family, for the smallest of their trio would 
 be Charity. Then, she argued, as they had only 
 two girls, and should they call them Faith, and 
 Hope, everybody would be asking for Charity; 
 this, to say the least, would give an unfinished air 
 to the family, besides entailing the constant con- 
 fession that they had no Charity. As for naming 
 the boys after the patriarchs, she would let Mr. 
 Ballantyne know that she did not propose to make 
 herself ridiculous to the neighborhood by stand- 
 ing in the back door every day and calling out 
 ** Abraham! Abraham!" 
 
 But this was not all that actuated the mother 
 of the Ballantyne children in her decision. Be- 
 ing of a poetic nature, a highly sentimental turn 
 of mind, and fond of novels of the love-sick order,
 
 The Ballantijnes 81 
 
 she in the fulness of her heart had named her first 
 daughted Amanda Malvina and her second re- 
 ceived the gorgeous appellation of Seraphina 
 Clementina, the heroine in a ' ' yellow back ' ' which 
 had greatly impressed her. As for the boys, she 
 had them christened Walter Scott and Oliver 
 Goldsmith. This, as has been said, was quite an 
 affliction to the father, but as he was an individual 
 of a buoyant temperament, as well as of a very 
 forgetful mind, he soon became reconciled. 
 
 Mr. Ballantyne was quite a character in his way. 
 Besides being a kind of mechanical genius, he was 
 a fair chemist, and always peering into the secrets 
 of the one and laboring on the strangest contriv- 
 ances as to the other. 
 
 There was no need for him to be handling saws, 
 planes, gimlets, screw drivers, crucibles, retorts, 
 etc., as the Ballantyne income was a good one from 
 two swamp plantations. But the man had the 
 gifts in him, and so fitted up in a wing of his house 
 two rooms, one a perfect charpenter's and tinker's 
 shop, and the other, a regular chemical laboratory. 
 When not in one, he was in the other, and when 
 in neither, lie could be found sitting on an iron 
 settee on his front gallery lost in a brown study, 
 with legs crossed, walking stick balanced on the 
 fore finger of his right hand, and gazing fixedly 
 over the rim of his spectacles through the tree-
 
 82 The Ballantynes 
 
 shaded lawn, beyond the gate, and down the road, 
 at— nothing! 
 
 In these reveries, he was usually wrestling with 
 some chemical or mechanical problem. He had 
 turned out a few patents that nobody ever used, 
 wrote some learned j^amphlets which nobody ever 
 read, while it was well understood that he was in 
 full pursuit and perfectly confident about obtain- 
 ing the secret of Perpetual Motion. 
 
 During Mr. Ballantyne's intense reHections or 
 reveries, it was very difficult to arouse him. For 
 years the family had realized that the dining room 
 bell was an inglorious failure, when it came to 
 summoning him to a meal. It required repeated 
 cries close to his ear, and sometimes very hearty 
 shakings of the shoulder, before the abstracted 
 man could recall his wandering spirit, center his 
 thoughts on objects near him and adjust himself 
 to relations and duties pertaining to this present 
 world and life. His far-away absent-minded 
 *'Humph!"-''Hey!"-''What did you say?"- 
 "H-u-m-p-h-?", while very entertaining to the 
 outsider, was anything but amusing to members of 
 the family. The arousing of Mr. Ballantyne from 
 one of his spells of abstraction, was like recover- 
 ing a man from a swoon, and sometimes almost 
 equal to the resuscitating of a person who had 
 been drowned. Then, like as not when Mr. Ball an-
 
 The Ballantynes 83 
 
 tyne was restored, and got it into his head that his 
 presence was desired at the breakfast or dinner ta- 
 ble, he would walk in and sit down with his hat on, 
 and straightway forget to eat, while staring fix- 
 edly at the castors or out of the window at the dis- 
 tant horizon. Even when he ate, it was evident 
 that he did not know what he was putting into his 
 mouth. It was also noticeable that after one of 
 these profound spells of thought Mr. Ballantyne 
 would be unusually busy with his tools in his little 
 shop, or there would be heard faint explosions in 
 the laboratory, followed by the most indescribable 
 and villainous odors, that would permeate the 
 whole house. Mrs. Ballantyne protested in vain, 
 saying that ''she just knew that Mr. Ballantyne 
 was going to blow himself and the whole family up 
 some fine morning!" ^AHiy she selected the morn- 
 ing for the explosion, and a fine morning at that, 
 no one could tell. Her prophecy often amused her 
 friends, but never seemed to affect her husband. 
 It is questionable whether he heard what she said, 
 for he would be lost in thought before she reached 
 that portion of the stereotji)ed speech, which bore 
 reference to the family excursion through midair, 
 with himself as a kind of engineer.
 
 84 The Ballantynes 
 
 II 
 
 MRS. BALLANTYNE 
 
 Mrs. Ballantyne was ten years younger than 
 lier husband, and a well preserved woman of forty. 
 When a young lady, she was quite a belle, and 
 noted for her beauty. There was a tradition in 
 the family, which she saw to did not perish, that 
 when a blue-eyed, golden-haired girl of eighteen, 
 she was standing one day on her father's veran- 
 dah, and a gentleman in passing happened to look 
 up, and as he saw this vision of blue and gold en- 
 swathed in a snow white summer dress, he at 
 once, becoming neglectful of his steps, stumbled 
 and fell flat upon the pavement, while the words 
 were fairly knocked out of him: 
 
 ' ' Heavens ! what a beauty ! ' ' 
 
 When Mrs, Ballantyne related this twenty, 
 thirty and even forty years afterward, and to au- 
 ditors who had frequently heard the pavement 
 narration before, it required faithful memories of 
 Chesterfield's teachings, and the deeper lesson of 
 the Golden Rule, to summon up certain convinced 
 and responsive looks, as the eye took note of the 
 washed out blue of the eye, the thinness and 
 grayness of the quandom golden locks, and the 
 peculiar tinge of yellow which appears in the 
 countenance at certain stages of life.
 
 The Ballantynes 85 
 
 These more deeply marked features of increas- 
 ing age of course came later, but Mrs. Ballantjoie 
 fought from the beginning most faithfully against 
 the vanguard of the invading years; and so, by 
 wearing ringlets on the side of her face; and re- 
 taining the same large loop earrings which she had 
 jingled at sixteen; and by powdering, painting, 
 frilling and furbelowing; by avoiding strong 
 lights, and using crimson curtains on the windows 
 and red shades on the lamp, she carried on quite a 
 successful war against Time, and looked at least 
 five vears vounger than she was. 
 
 One rule of this good lady was never to leave 
 her couch before ten in the moraing; and she had 
 not been known to breakfast with the family for 
 fifteen years. She began to arise at about nine 
 o'clock; when sitting up in bed she dressed her 
 hair, and worked on her complexion and counte- 
 nance in various ways. At half past nine, she 
 received her morning meal, consisting of tea, toast 
 and broiled bird or chicken. As she ate slowly 
 and stopped to look at herself quite frequently 
 with a hand glass by her side, and also cast a 
 number of earnest glances in a large miiTor that 
 confronted her on the wall, the breakfast lasted 
 from a half to three quarters of an hour. At 
 eleven o'clock, being arrayed for the day, she 
 glided into the parlor, and wrote poetry; and at
 
 86 The Ballantyncs 
 
 noon sang love ballads in a weak, little, quavering 
 voice, while accompanying herself on a thin toned 
 piano. 
 
 Mrs. Ballantyne was quite a faithful church goer 
 in her way. At eleven on the Sabbath, when the 
 last bell would be ringing, she would begin to get 
 ready. By a quarter to twelve, she swept out of 
 her front gate, picked her dainty way along the 
 primitive pavements of the village, and reached 
 the church about twelve, when the congregation 
 was rising to sing the doxology. For years she 
 scarcelv varied five minutes in the time of her ar- 
 rival. If the preacher happened to expound a 
 little longer than thirty minutes, she obtained his 
 ' * last thought " or ' * one word more. ' ' But most of 
 the time, the sermon had been concluded, so that 
 her soul, for a great part of her life, had for its 
 nourishment, the doxology, and the benediction, 
 both very good indeed in their way, but not in- 
 tended of Heaven to be the main pabulum of the 
 spirit. 
 
 In days not the Sabbath when Mrs. Ballan- 
 tyne 's hair had been arranged, breakfast eaten, 
 poem written and ballads played, she was then 
 ready to notice her children. At such a time, if 
 they passed through the hall, and as it happened 
 often in a most neglected condition of face, hands, 
 and garments, she would call to them, dart a lov-
 
 The Ballantynes 87 
 
 ing glance upon them, and say in a roguish man- 
 ner, while shaking her ringlets and loop earrings: 
 
 ''Come straight here to your Ma-zah." 
 
 Just why Mrs. Ballantyne fastened the peculiar 
 attachment of "zah" to "ma" would be difficult 
 to tell. It was perhaps in affectionate playful- 
 ness, a kind of pet tenu; but it was noticeable she 
 never used it until the hair arrangement, break- 
 fast, poem, and ballad, had all been attended to. 
 Then she would relax, descend, unbend, and press- 
 ing one of the young Ballantyne 's to her side 
 would ask: 
 
 "Do you love your Ma-zah?'* 
 The molasses streaked child would on some occa- 
 sions, while rendering an affirmative answer, grant 
 a sticky embrace and kiss to his mother, who 
 would cry ' ' Heavens ! " go to rubbing her cheek or 
 lawn dress with her handkerchief, and say: 
 
 "Pack yourself off this instant to Kitty and 
 tell her I say to wash your face and put on a clean 
 apron. ' ' 
 
 Off' would shoot the young hopeful, but not to 
 Kitty; nor did the mother ever follow to see if 
 her commands had been obeyed. 
 
 Sometimes, when unusually gracious, she would 
 say: 
 
 "Run and kiss your Pa-zah.'* 
 
 But "Pa-zah," that is, Mr. Ballantyne, would
 
 88 The Ballantynes 
 
 likely as not be in one of his brown studies in the 
 iron settee on the porch, and a kiss aimed at and 
 implanted on his cheek, nose or partially bald 
 head, no more affected him than it would have 
 stirred a man who was sound asleep, or had been 
 knocked senseless. 
 
 Fortunately for the children, when Mr. Ballan- 
 tyne was in one of his spells of thought, Mrs. Bal- 
 lantyne would be herself, so to speak; and when 
 she would be composing a poem and mooning 
 around with her eyes floating in a kind of mist, he 
 would come down from the stars and walk on 
 earth awhile. This happy arrangement, which must 
 have been providential, kept the children from 
 being more than half orphans at a time. Never- 
 theless, there were days when there was a con- 
 junction of planets, and both would wear a dazed 
 look, he struggling with some mechanical or chem- 
 ical problem, and she undergoing the mental birth 
 pangs of a poem. These were the times when the 
 servants and children could do what they would, 
 and no more notice be taken of their confusion 
 and uproar than the average American citizen in 
 his business absorbed life bestows on electrical 
 storms raging ninety millions of miles away on the 
 face of the Sun. 
 
 The breakfast or dinner hour of the family, once 
 having been beheld by an outsider, would never
 
 The Ballantynes 89 
 
 be forgotten. It required several servants to wait 
 on the children in their early days, as they fussed, 
 stormed, bawled, and had their way generally, 
 while Mr. Ballantyne, wrapped in meditation, 
 gazed at the castors and seemed perfectly obliv- 
 ious of the uproar. If it was the morning meal, 
 Mrs. Ballantyne at that moment would be sitting 
 up in bed two or three rooms away complacently 
 suiweying in a hand mirror her completed ringlets 
 and complexion ; and if it was the dinner hour, she 
 posed at the foot of the table a vision of lilac and 
 purple ribbons, and looked in smiling indiiTerence 
 upon the whole clamorous scene before her; that 
 is, if she saw it at all. Sometimes there were indi- 
 cations that a poem was on the docks, and again 
 there were signs which led to the suspicion that 
 the mistress of the mansion was entertaining im- 
 aginary company. 
 
 There were occasions in the domestic reign of 
 Mrs. Ballantyne that were specially prized by her, 
 and where she who had merely sparkled before 
 would then fairly blaze. 
 
 One was a great company dining, where the par- 
 lors were thronged with guests, and the air filled 
 with gay laughter, the buzz of conversation, the 
 notes of the piano, and the usual stereotyped out- 
 cries at fhe conclusion of some tremulously rend- 
 ered song— '* How beautiful!" "Perfectlv love-
 
 90 The Ballaniynes 
 
 lyP» <*0h, don't stop." *'Do give us just one 
 more!" etc. 
 
 Another side of the great household occasion 
 was the presence of several extra cooks in the 
 kitchen. Bettie, the chief, was in her glory and 
 looked like a general as she issued her many 
 orders in a loud voice in the midst of slamming 
 stove doors, and falling billets of wood, threaten- 
 ing to brain a half dozen youngsters who impeded 
 her way, while the steam and vapor from pans 
 and ovens, encircling her head, stood for the smoke 
 of the battle. 
 
 In the "Big House" there was an unusual num- 
 ber of negro women with white aprons and parti- 
 colored bandanas on their heads. Some were the 
 regular trained serv^ants of the home, and others 
 had been brought up from the plantation to meet 
 the present need. This difference made occasion 
 for frequent open rebuke, as well as secret pride 
 with the ** regulars," as they would stumble on 
 the ''raw recruits," and find them motionless, gaz- 
 ing in open eyed and open mouthed astonishment 
 and admiration at the muslins and silks, the low 
 necks and short sleeves, the outstanding crinoline, 
 and all the other bewildering fineiy of the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Until the Ballantyne children grew up they had
 
 The BaUantynes 91 
 
 to be scoured and dressed for the hour. And such 
 faithful attention did they get in the bathroom 
 that their ears were red as beets for most of the 
 evening, while the white duck trousers and broad 
 pantelettes, so stood out with unyielding starch, 
 tliat the garments actually seemed to support 
 their wearers. Mr. Ballantyne was also made 
 ready for the festival, and would appear in a black 
 suit, richly figured vest, and a large cravat encirc- 
 ling an equally large collar. Mr. Ballantyne gen- 
 erally seemed in doubt as to what he was attend- 
 ing, and therefore soon sinking into one of his 
 reveries, his personal appearance suggested a fun- 
 eral; and later when the huge knot of his cravat 
 slipped around under his left ear, as it always did, 
 the vision in its hint to the observer was still more 
 startling. 
 
 Mrs. Ballantyne knew nothing whatever about 
 housekeeping, but was blessed with first-class ser- 
 vants who had mastered or mistressed every mys- 
 tery of the kitchen and dining room. They knew 
 all things, from the preparation of the most diffi- 
 cult and choicest Southern dishes, to the folding 
 of immaculate napkins into the daintiest as well 
 as most remarkable shapes. So all the consort of 
 Mr. Ballantyne had to do was to entertain in the 
 parlor, and sit radiant as a queen at the head of
 
 92 The Ballantynes 
 
 the table, blissfully certain that everything would 
 come out all right, and another company dinner 
 victory be scored. 
 
 And so things would and did come out all right, 
 barring those accidents that are said to take place 
 in the best regulated families. 
 
 But surely it was a sight worth seeing to behold 
 the folding doors suddenly thrown open, and Mrs. 
 Ballantyne with ringlets, loop earrings and smiles 
 all in motion, heading the procession, leaning on 
 the arm of Col. Bowser, a man with round, florid 
 face, gray mutton chop side whiskers, courtl}^ in 
 manners, and owning one of the finest cotton plan- 
 tations in the State. Then when the laughing, 
 buzzing throng had taken their places at the table, 
 with a dim perspective of ebony faces at a dis- 
 tant window ; how full of ease and grace was Mrs. 
 Ballantyne as she dished out oyster soup with a 
 large silver ladle left her by her grandmother. 
 Several gentlemen would be firing remarks at her 
 from both sides of the table at once, but she had 
 smiles and apt replies for them all, while her gold 
 earrings shook and the silver ladle flashed in and 
 out of the milk in search for the regulation num- 
 ber of oysters for each plate. 
 
 It seemed that one,memorable evening, some of- 
 ficious new kitchen hand had abstracted a num- 
 ber of the tempting bivalves, so that Mrs. Ballau-
 
 The Ballantynes 93 
 
 tyne was fishing in vain for them after the first 
 half dozen guests had been helped. A colored 
 damsel of twelve, caught up hastily to fill the va- 
 cancy among the waitresses, became exceedingly 
 interested in the voyages of discovery, and planted 
 her black face and woolly head just over Mrs. Bal- 
 lantyne's shoulder, unknown to that good lady, 
 though observed by some of the highly amused 
 company. Just then a single oyster floated to the 
 surface, when the diminutive African, with ex- 
 panding eyes, cried out in a voice that first elec- 
 trified and afterwards convulsed the whole party, 
 
 '*Dars one. Miss!" 
 
 Amid all the laughter of the company, and the 
 sudden retirement in disgrace of the oyster finder, 
 how polite were the guests, who warmly insisted 
 that they preferred the soup without the oysters, 
 and how charming was Mrs. Ballantyne as she 
 emerged from behind her lace handkerchief in that 
 state so well known in the society world as blended 
 confusion and self-possession. 
 
 Then on that identical night, after the meats 
 and vegetables had been removed, and the dessert 
 was in order, who should come wandering in but 
 the youngest son of Mr, and Mrs, Ballantyne, a 
 lad of thirteen, and who had received the famous 
 name of Oliver Goldsmith. He had been told to 
 wait for the second table, but an hour is a weary
 
 94 The Ballantynes 
 
 while for a hungry boy, especially when a ' ' com- 
 pany dinner" is on hand. So, against the domestic 
 rule and regulation, and in face of the maternal 
 injunction, he walked in as the waiters were deftly 
 whisking their brushes over the damask table 
 cloth, and, standing in front of the large side- 
 board, which was loaded down with an array of 
 fruits, wine bottles, frosted cakes, colored gela- 
 tines, and an immense cut glass dish containing 
 Island Float, he clasped his hands and suddenly 
 and loudly apostrophised, 
 ' ' Oh, Float ! I could eat a thousand of you ! ' ' 
 Of course there was considerable merriment 
 over this, and Oliver was promptly banished for 
 the time being, but not until Mr. Snipes, a very 
 grave looking young man, with a long, thin coun- 
 tenance, and wearing a single eye glass, had been 
 filled with such uncontrollable mirth that he 
 sucked a crumb of bread down his windpipe, was 
 escorted out on the back gallery by two gentle- 
 men friends, and a sympathetic old lady, and had 
 an abundance of water given to him, and an 
 equally liberal supply of knocks applied vigor- 
 ously to his back, until he found or confessed that 
 he found relief. 
 
 When Mr. Snipes returned, feeling recovered in 
 a measure, his first glance around was for Oliver; 
 and eveiy time his eyes rested upon the lad, it was
 
 The Ballantynes 95 
 
 suflSeient to set him off in something that resem- 
 bled a cross between a spasm and a case of apop- 
 lexy. He seemed to regard the child as a great 
 natural curiosity. 
 
 But Mrs. Ballantyne must not be forgotten. 
 Another occasion in which she shone to the high- 
 est advantage and illumined the whole family 
 horizon and regions beyond, was when her numer- 
 ous friends and relatives came to visit them for a 
 few days or weeks; and there would originate and 
 develop in that time, a real love affair. Then it 
 was that the mistress of the Ballantjme mansion 
 wa'fe in her full glory. If there was anything that 
 she could manage, it was matters of the heart per- 
 taining to others, from the beginning of the love 
 sickness to its final end in separation, or consum- 
 mation in marriage. If there was anything on 
 earth she liked to do next to dressing her hair and 
 eating breakfast in bed, it was to make matches. 
 It is true that some of these couples fell away from 
 her afterward and seemed to entertain a kind of 
 grudge against her, but that in no wise impaired 
 the gifts of Mrs. Ballantyne, or discontinued their 
 practice upon others. 
 
 If misunderstandings, quarrels, and partings 
 took place between the lovers instead of the more 
 prosaic marriage, Mrs. Ballantyne then fairly ex- 
 celled herself. These agitating occurrences
 
 96 The Ballantynes 
 
 brought ont still other accomplishments and excel- 
 lences of the good lady, and her touch would rest 
 on a dozen different reins as she guided the chariot 
 of the case in hand to the place she desired. There 
 would be a strange and yet pleasing mystery all 
 about the house. Mrs. Ballantyne would be seen 
 whispering to a score of different people all in one 
 morning. Buzzings were heard in side nooks and 
 comers, as well as in the hall and on the veranda. 
 Notes passed frequently of the most secret 
 nature, though there was reason to believe that 
 everybody read them before nightfall. Tears were 
 shed. Messengers came and went. Somebody, 
 perhaps the rejected suitor or discarded lover, 
 went tearing down the road on horseback. The 
 young lady went to bed. An odor of smelling 
 salts penetrated the parlor. A dry sob was heard. 
 Mystery and misery brooded. Eyes were swollen. 
 Rings and packages were returned. Ladies would 
 come out of dark rooms, entwine each other's 
 waists with their arms and whisper, "How sad." 
 A gentleman was observ^ed in a trellised arbor to 
 pull his hair, or start to do it. Negroes were kept 
 on the jump, and horses had no rest. Guests dallied 
 at the meals, but ate on the whole as much as ever. 
 One young lady, however, burst into tears at the 
 table, and had to be led away by two of her com- 
 panions. Still another with a dreamy expression
 
 Tlic Ballantyncs 97 
 
 was heard saying to a yoimg man that ''she had 
 never loved a dear gazelle." 
 
 In the midst of all these doings and undoings, 
 this indescribable combination of love, mystery, 
 heartaches, and all kinds of happenings, Mrs. Bal- 
 lantjTie was in her glory. If things grew common- 
 place, interest languished and exhaustion set in, 
 it would only require the presence of this remark- 
 able lady for a few minutes here and there, and 
 lo! the flames were fanned, heat was on again, 
 sighs, tears and whispers would be multiplied, 
 more mysterious notes be written, and utterances 
 in dark comers and at the end of the porch 
 abound. 
 
 It was also, at such a time as this, that Mrs. Bal- 
 lantyne was enabled to write her most affecting 
 poems about billow and pillow, spoken and broken, 
 sever and never, fair and dispair, knell and fare- 
 well. 
 
 There are many other things that could be told 
 about the polished, hospitable, and versatile wife 
 of the absent-minded Mr. Ballantjme; but the 
 limits of this story will not allow the indulgence. 
 Nevertheless they are all written in the chronicles 
 of the Ballantyne family.
 
 98 The Ballantynes 
 
 111 
 
 THE YOUNG BALLANTYNES 
 
 Before the Civil War, Soutkemers might name 
 their children as they would, but few such appel- 
 lations escaped a beheading, reheading and often 
 entire change at the hands of the family servants. 
 One of the prerogatives assumed and tacitly 
 granted the slave in the South was this accolade 
 touch and bedubbing process by which a nick- 
 nam-O was given a child instead of his own. Few 
 could get rid of them, the rule being that, barnacle- 
 like, they clung to their owners through the whole 
 voyage of life. 
 
 As for the parents and relatives of the victims, 
 it was utterly vain to struggle against the trans- 
 forming process going on right before their eyes 
 and ears; useless to laugh and say it is perfectly 
 preposterous to give such a name; and lost time 
 to get mad, box the servants' jaws and vociferate, 
 "My child shall not be called by any such absurd 
 and outlandish title!" The re-designating act 
 would take place in spite of all that might, could, 
 should and would be done, and so thoroughly 
 that often friends and acquaintances of the 
 family never knew the real name of the child. 
 An additional fact of surprise was that the par- 
 ents themselves at last fell into the use of
 
 The Ballantynes 99 
 
 the tenns given by the negro sponsors, and the 
 beautiful, elegant cognomens of Edwin, Ger- 
 ald, Blanche and Grace, would utterly disap- 
 pear, and the strange, grotesque verbal applica- 
 tions of "Ripper," "Snorter," "Coon," "Pos- 
 sum," "Boots," "Horse," "Dan Tucker," and 
 many others like them would take their place and 
 remain victors in the field. It was as though 
 another Civilization had been wiped out, and a set 
 of Goths and Vandals with shaggy hides and 
 wooden bludgeons were stalking around amid the 
 ruins, in lieu of the inhabitants whom they had 
 slaughtered. 
 
 The names given by Mrs. Ballantyne to her 
 children were, as has been mentioned, Walter 
 Scott, Oliver Goldsmith, Amanda Malvina, and 
 Seraphina Clementina. But a strange retribution 
 was upon her, for as she had treated her husband, 
 so now her servants rendered unto her full meas- 
 ure, shaken together, pressed down and running 
 over. The classic and sentimental titles she had 
 selected with such care were utterly ignored and 
 set aside by the negroes, both at the house and 
 on the palntation, and in their stead appeared the 
 commonplace and ordinaiy names of "Boo and 
 Bud," "Sis and Miss." 
 
 Boo was a contraction of Boots. The circum- 
 stance fastening this highly elegant expression
 
 100 The Ballantynes 
 
 upon the boy being his possession of a pair of little 
 red-topped iDOots, in which he took such pride and 
 stalked around with so lordly an air that the ser- 
 vants all united in calling their inflated owner 
 first Bootsey, afterwards shortening it to Boots, 
 and finally to Boo. Thus perished Walter Scott, 
 the Second. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith went down before the prosaic 
 term of Bud. Of course, when the second son was 
 born, he became little brother, next brudder, then 
 buddy, and finally Bud. So Oliver was Budded, 
 if not butted out of the household. 
 
 Amanda Malvina was captured by Mrs. Ballan- 
 tyne from the Children of the Abbey, with the 
 intent of making her a fixture in their own house- 
 hold, but through the aforesaid African lips, she 
 was transmigrated or metamorphosed into plain 
 *'Sis." 
 
 Seraphina Clementina was a name entirely too 
 long and difficult for the descendants of Ham, and 
 so the little one had hardly appeared before the 
 footlights, and made her bow as Seraphina, when 
 the hands of the servants were laid upon her, 
 changed her verbal drapery, and she was greeted 
 on her reappearance as ''Little Mistiss." Later 
 on this costume was cut shorter to ' ' Missie, ' ' and 
 still later Seraphina settled down to the business 
 of life in the narrowed garb of ' ' Miss. ' '
 
 The Ballantynes 101 
 
 What a havoc was here! What an evolution, 
 not to say devolution! Let the reader think of 
 brigands and robbers going into a man's home 
 and taking away parts and portions of one's chil- 
 dren until all were gone and some mud images 
 were left instead. Or if this is too strong, think 
 of a Dog Catcher anned with authority coming 
 into the house day after day and taking off sec- 
 tions of the ears and tails of pet Newfoundlands 
 and Spaniels until nothing but stubs of the animals 
 themselves remained. 
 
 But no matter how it tried the feelings, the facts 
 existed ; the new brands burned in, and the absurd 
 names abided. The Ballantyne children grew up 
 to manhood and womanhood, but they never out- 
 grew the titular honors conferred on them by 
 their own slaves. They were Boo'd and Budded, 
 and Sissed and Missed all the days of their lives. 
 
 Boo fell heir to the long, slender legs of his 
 father and his nasal way of saying *'Ah-h," and 
 **H-u-m-p-h." He had, also, a great way of get- 
 ting into all kinds of trouble. If there was a pool 
 of water within a mile of the place, he would fall 
 into it. If there was a nest of yellow-jackets any- 
 where in that part of the countr>^ Boo found them. 
 They also found Boo. 
 
 Bud was a nondescript. There was little Intel-
 
 102 The Ballantynes 
 
 leetuality about him, and yet he had been named 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 Sis secured her mother's faded blue eyes, cork- 
 screw ringlets, affected shake of the head and so- 
 ciety simper. 
 
 Miss inherited the maternal gift of poesy, so 
 that even at fifteen, she was known to sit on the 
 slope of the hill in the dew, gaze at the crimson 
 AVest, and then, with a moody look, go off to her- 
 self in the library and write something about 
 ''sunset bars" and ''far off stars"; about "sigh" 
 and "nigh"; about "weep" and "sleep"; "bliss" 
 and "kiss"; also "dove" and "love." 
 
 Miss wrote a sonnet when she was sixteen that 
 was reported to be exceedingly affecting; but there 
 was but one copy, and this single piece of manu- 
 script was caught in a heavy shower of rain, while 
 in the side pocket of a gentleman's coat who had 
 surreptitiously taken it with the intention of read- 
 ing it alone at home. 
 
 On bringing it to the light, it was discovered 
 that the rain, in connection with the heat of the 
 gentleman's body, had soaked up and destroyed 
 the entire poem with the exception of the last word 
 in each line. These are reproduced with great 
 gladness that the Public might know for itself 
 how much was lost to the world in the absorption 
 by the elements of this poetical gem. The surviv- 
 ing words plainly indicate its beauty, force and
 
 The Ballantynes 103 
 
 originality. The water line is also exhibited so as 
 to show how deep the moisture penetrated. To 
 the Fancy, this wavering boundary appears as the 
 margin of an engulfing sea, while the rescued 
 words in a row, stand like sui-\avors on the beach 
 after a great storm, castaway— but saved! 
 
 Here it is minus ink blurs and water discolora- 
 tions, as it was restored to the family after 
 the warm summer afternoon shower. The title 
 will have to be guessed at, as that was entirely 
 washed out. Some one affirmed that it was '*To 
 One I Love," but Miss, with many blushes, de- 
 clared she had never, could never, and no, never 
 would tell that part of the poem to any one. This 
 is the fragment,
 
 104 Tlie BaUaniynes 
 
 Miss was entreated to rewrite the poem for the 
 benefit of her friends, if not for posterity, but she 
 replied with a pensive, far-away smile that she 
 "could never recall what were plainly bursts of 
 inspiration, coming from some peculiar complex- 
 ity of situation or condition of heart. " " No, ' ' she 
 continued with a sigh as she raised her ivory fan 
 to hide the tears in her eyes, "I could never recall 
 that sonnet. Like the horns in elf-land faintly 
 blowing, it comes, is heard, dies away and is gone 
 forever. ' ' 
 
 All the Ballantjme children inherited the 
 mother's fondness for music, so that the piano 
 knew no rest from morning until night, and often 
 from night until almost morning again. 
 
 When Boo had played the accompaniment to the 
 solitary song he knew, "Thou hast learned to 
 Love Another, ' ' and sung the piece twice through 
 with his gosling voice; then Bud came in and 
 thumped, "Old Jim Crow," and "Chicken in the 
 Bread Tray." After this, Sis sailed in and made 
 the strings fairly hum and quiver with "The 
 Maiden's Prayer." When she retired, Miss glided 
 to the music stool and wailed about "The Lonely 
 Bird." 
 
 In the afternoon, Boo tried his hand again ; Bud 
 presented his everlasting "Chicken in the Bread 
 Tray"; then came Sis with "The Maiden's 
 Prayer"; and finally Miss with the Bird.
 
 The Ballantynes 105 
 
 In the middle of the day, Mrs. Ballantyne played 
 and sang, ''The Origin of the Harp," in a thin, 
 quavering voice, and as she proceeded with the 
 melancholy narrative, would cross her hands over 
 the keys, an accomplishment highly thought of in 
 the "Fifties," or just before the War. 
 
 The fact that the South was getting ready to 
 cross hands in a very different way with people 
 on the other side of the Mason and Dixon line in- 
 vested this musical grace and performance with 
 something of a prophetic air. Anyhow, let that 
 be as it will, the point made here is that the Bal- 
 lantyne piano was grievously vexed by living 
 spirits. It had but little rest at night, and abso- 
 lutely none in the day. As its vitals were torn 
 from early morn until deep in the night, it could 
 truly have said, "I am tormented." 
 
 IV 
 
 MR. BALLANTYNE'S INCREASING AB^ 
 STRACTION 
 
 "It is very evident to my mind," said Mrs. Bal- 
 lantyne, "that if Mr. BallantjTie doesn't blow 
 himself and all the rest of us up, one of these fine 
 mornings, witb those jars, pots and machinery of
 
 106 The BaUantynes 
 
 his in the shop, then he 's going to get so deep set 
 in one of his brown studies that he will never come 
 out of it." 
 
 The occasion of this vigorous remark was that 
 on that very morning, a man had been hallooing at 
 the gate in front of the house for fully five min- 
 utes, while Mr. Ballantyne sat on the gallery in 
 full view of the person, and never seemed to be 
 aware of his presence or heard a single sound of 
 his stentorian calls. There he was, sitting cross- 
 legged, with walking cane balanced on his finger, 
 gazing over the upper rim of his spectacles down 
 the road, in the most placid, vacant faced way, as 
 if no excited, crimson-faced individual was just in 
 front waving his hand and vociferating, ''Hello 
 the house!" 
 
 He did well in saying, ''Hello the house," for 
 the man of the house never heard a word. All this, 
 of course, was quite trying to the party who was 
 endeavoring to secure attention, for the very ap- 
 pearance of Mr. Ballantyne seemed to indicate a 
 perfect indifference to the call, caller and the 
 whole affair. The man thought he was ignored 
 when he simply was not perceived, and was be- 
 ing gazed through into space and regions far be- 
 yond. 
 
 It was only a few mornings after this occur- 
 rence, that Mr. Ballantyne took his accustomed
 
 The Ballantynes 107 
 
 place on the iron settee, crossed his legs, balanced 
 his stick evenly on his right forefinger, lowered 
 his chin and commenced gazing over his spectacles 
 down the road at nothing. The tremulous motion 
 of the right foot gave the left limb a gentle ride. 
 His hat was set back on his head, and the whole 
 attitude was that of profound meditation. 
 
 At this moment. Boo, who was always getting 
 into trouble, could find nothing better to do than 
 to fall in a well, forty feet deep, in the back yard. 
 Immediately there was a great shriek, and clamor 
 among the servants. Some rushed for ladders, 
 and ropes, some ran to the neighbors for they 
 knew not what, others did nothing but scream, 
 while a negro boy of fifteen, bareheaded, bare- 
 footed and with scant apparel on his person, flew 
 to tell Mr. Ballantyne, who, quietly sitting on the 
 gallery, had not heard a note of the uproar. 
 
 Unfortunately for Boo, his mother, sisters and 
 Bud, had all gone to the main county town that 
 day in the carriage, so that Mr. Ballantyne was 
 the only one of the family to receive the report of 
 the misfortune, and he was in a brown study. But 
 the bo}'', rushing up the steps in front of the ab- 
 sorbed man, cried out loud enough to be heard a 
 block away: 
 
 ''Ole Marster! Mars Boo, sah, done tumbul in 
 de well!"
 
 108 The Ballantynes 
 
 *'H-u-m-p-li!" said Mr. Ballantyne, in an in- 
 quiring bumble-bee kind of voice. 
 
 ' ' Mars Boo done fell in de well, Ole Marster. ' ' 
 
 ''Who's that calling," asked Mr. Ballantyne, in 
 a far-away tone, with his eyes fixed on vacancy 
 and the pucker on the forehead showing that he 
 was grappling with some kind of problem, and had 
 utterly failed to take in what was being yelled 
 at his elbow. So, with the bumble-bee note, he re- 
 plied, 
 
 "Who's-that-calling-me?" 
 
 "Hits me er callin' you. Mars Tom. Hits yaller 
 Bob's little boy, Jim. Doan you know Jim? Hits 
 me— Jim— Mars Tom— er tellin' you Mars Boo's 
 in de well. ' ' 
 
 "What— did— you— say?" asked Mr. Ballan- 
 tyne, still wondering, but evidently making a 
 great effort to come back to earth. 
 
 "Laws— a— mussey! Mars Boo, sah. He done 
 fall haid f omus in de well, sah. He done drowndid 
 by dis time," cried the boy, now fairly blubber- 
 ing and wiping his wet cheeks and overflowing 
 eyes with his ragged sleeve. 
 
 "Who's in the well?" queried Mr. BallantjTie, 
 now evidently coming back to life, and its sur- 
 roundings. "Who did you say was in the well?" 
 
 "Mars Boo, sah," sobbed the now loudly weep- 
 ing boy, while he stamped around almost beside
 
 The Ballantynes 109 
 
 himself. ''Mars Boo done drap in de well, sah, 
 and lie done daid, sah, by dis time, sah. ' ' 
 
 ''What!" cried the now thoroughly aroused 
 father, as he rose up and took long strides toward 
 the well, with his alpaca sack coat fluttering in 
 the wind behind, "\\niy didn't you tell me be- 
 fore?" 
 
 "I is done tole yer er hundid times, sah, en yer 
 nuvver hy 'erd me. ' ' 
 
 By this time the whole yard was in the greatest 
 excitement, noise and confusion. Screams and 
 wails abounded, while the servants were gathered 
 around the well with brooms, hoes, rolling pins, 
 and eveiy other needless thing which they could 
 lay their hands upon. 
 
 While much vociferation and exclamation filled 
 the air, together with loud questions and answers 
 as to how the boy got in, Mr. Ballantyne arrived 
 on the scene, with Jim at his heels, leaned over 
 the curbing, and gazing down the dark depths, 
 cried, 
 
 "Bootsey, are you there?" 
 
 Perhaps no one but Mr. Ballantjme would ever 
 have put the anxiety and trouble of the occasion 
 in such a verbal shape. Examined critically, it 
 was a needless question, for there was no other 
 place for Boo to be but at the bottom of the well, 
 inasmuch as he had just fallen in, and no one as
 
 110 The Ballantynes 
 
 yet bad pulled him out, and furtheiTiiore, there 
 was no mode of egress in the other direction 
 toward China. 
 
 To the great joy of all, a voice ascended from 
 the bottom of the well, forty feet below, declaring: 
 
 ''Yes, Father, I'm here." 
 
 In due time. Boo was hauled up, sitting astride 
 of the bucket, with no harm done him, marvellous 
 to say, beyond the infliction of some blue and black 
 bruises on his body. It seems that he had been 
 peering into the dark well like his father did into 
 chemical and mechanical mysteries, when he lost 
 his balance and fell in; but as he was falling, he 
 caught the rope, and as this sped out on the re- 
 volving windlass, his fall was broken somewhat, 
 and thereby his life was saved. 
 
 In twenty minutes from the time of the reap- 
 ance of Boo on the face of the earth, Mr. Ballan- 
 tyne was on the front porch, legs crossed, stick 
 balanced, and eyes gazing over his spectacles 
 down the road at nothing and nobody. 
 
 V 
 
 THE END OF THE BALLANTYNES 
 
 It all befell as Mrs. Ballantyne had predicted 
 many times it would, Mr. Ballantyne did really 
 blow himself up. Nevertheless, in spite of her
 
 The Ballantynes 111 
 
 prophecy and constantly expressed certainty of 
 its coming fulfillment, the good lady was very 
 much shocked when the disaster finally took place. 
 
 Mr. Ballantine had become more and more ab- 
 sorbed in his meditations ; his brown studies grew 
 browner; his obsei'\"ations profounder; so that 
 one day he walked into a bee hive, and at another 
 time, plunged into an empty cistern that was un- 
 dergoing repairs, and did a number of other ab- 
 sent-minded things which made even his best 
 friends say he needed not only a guardian, but a 
 nurse and keeper. 
 
 He capped the climax one day by sticking a 
 lighted candle in the mouth of a large tin can con- 
 taining an explosive oil. Perhaps the shape of 
 the vessel's neck suggested the idea of a candle- 
 stick to Mr. Ballantyne, so that when the thought 
 engrossed being inserted the candle in the bell- 
 shaped mouth, the burning light fell through, 
 there was an awful explosion, one side of the room 
 was torn out, and the unfortunate man instantly 
 killed. 
 
 Mrs. BallantjTie went into deep mourning, wrote 
 on paper and envelopes that had a black border 
 nearly an inch deep, and spent hours in lauding 
 Mr. Ballantyne to the skies, where it is to be hoped 
 he had already gone. It certainly would have as- 
 tonished him, however, could he have returned
 
 112 The Ballantynes 
 
 and heard *'wliat a considerate husband he had 
 been"; how ''ne was tne best of men"; how "he 
 lived for his family"; and how "his main thought 
 had been to please her." 
 
 Then would come fresh gushes of tears, more 
 sighing and shaking of the head, and the solemn 
 assertion that "few women ever had svich a hus- 
 band as she had possessed"; which last statement 
 was very true indeed, and would have been con- 
 tradicted by no one who knew Mr. Ballantyne. 
 After this would follow the usual closing clause 
 of the oft-repeated speech of sorrow, that 
 
 "She never expected to see another man like 
 Mr. Ballantyne— never!— never!— never! That no 
 one need say anything to her to the contrary. ' ' 
 
 But no one said anything to the contrary. The 
 conviction with everybody, reaching even to a 
 cordial agreement, was that there was no one like 
 Mr. Ballantyne. 
 
 After fifteen years of canonizing her husband, 
 and like a certain church, making him a saint in 
 the other world, whether he was ever one on earth 
 or not, Mrs. Ballantyne herself fell on sleep, and 
 was laid by his side in a country burial ground 
 near the old church, where they had first seen each 
 other, attended protracted meeting together, and 
 at last were joined for life by the white-haired 
 pastor in the holy bonds of matrimony.
 
 The Ballantynes 113 
 
 Miss continued to write poetry whose line ter- 
 minals were mainly "gleaming" and "beaming," 
 "pining" and "twining," "sighing" and dying." 
 
 One afternoon she had been called on to recite 
 one of her most sentimental pieces in which the 
 concluding words were "soon" and "moon," 
 "hair" and "despair," "years" and "tears," 
 "gloom and "tomb." The company was much 
 affected, and evidently so was the reciter herself, 
 for she hurriedly retired to conceal her emotion, 
 doubtless in some alcove of the house or shadowy 
 nook in the garden. But only a minute afterwards 
 a neighboring wealthy young planter, who had 
 been much impressed with the poetess, the poem, 
 and its touching rendition, becoming thirsty, was 
 escorted by Bud, who always did the wrong thing, 
 into the dining room to get a drink of water. 
 When lo! and behold! there at the uncleared din- 
 ing table sat Miss with a large dish of turnip 
 greens and bacon before her, of which she was 
 most heartily partaking, with the assistance of a 
 fork in one hand and a piece of com bread in the 
 other. 
 
 Be it far from the author to reflect in any wise 
 upon that good, old-fashioned dish of which our 
 fathers and forefathers partook before the more 
 aristocratic spinach came into vogue. Further- 
 more, he would not have it presumed a moment, 
 that he would insinuate that there is, or should
 
 114 The Ballantynes 
 
 be, any necessarj^ antagonism between the gush- 
 ings of the sentimental nature, and the reception 
 into the same person of turnip greens flanked with 
 bacon and corn bread. Stony facts, alone, in this 
 chapter are being dealt with; and one of these 
 granite happenings was, that there was then and 
 there in the dining room a most unmistakable 
 tableau. 
 
 The unfolding beau actually had the discourtesy 
 to grin, and Miss without the presence of mind to 
 offer him a part of the dish or make out that she 
 was just tasting the strange vegetable to see if she 
 liked it, or to find out what it was; Miss, it is re- 
 peated, was first speechless, and then straightway 
 vanished. 
 
 Perhaps a poem to be called ''A Fragment," 
 might assist the mind right here in taking in what 
 happened then and soon afterwards. But as the 
 whole matter is delicate and painful, only the last 
 words of the ''Fragment" shall be given. They 
 are "blush" and "rush," "alone" and "groan," 
 "Bud" and "thud," "slap" and "rap," 
 ' ' crossed, " " tost " and " lost. ' ' 
 
 The beau, from a foolish inability to recognize 
 the harmony between sentiment and vegetables, 
 never came back. But other suitors came, Miss 
 rallied, and finally, at the age of twenty-five, and 
 several years after the close of the Civil War
 
 The BaUanfijncs 115 
 
 married a man in the Soap Business. This gentle- 
 man did not deal in Fancy Toilet articles, but in 
 soft soap altogether. He had discovered a cheap 
 method of compressing the liquid substance into 
 enduring bars and thereby made a fortune. 
 
 Miss ceased to write poetry after her marriage, 
 and always manifested a great antipathy to turnip 
 greens. She confided to her society friends the 
 fact, as she brushed a speck from her silk dress, 
 that their odor always sickened her; that she was 
 SO delicately constituted that she could not even 
 endure the smell of boiled cauliflower. 
 
 Her social circle cordially agreed with her, and 
 one in her enthusiasm came very near saying that 
 the scent of cabbage and greens was as disgusting 
 to her as the odor of a Soap Factory, when she 
 caught herself just in time, and ended suddenly 
 with the words, 
 
 *'0f course— by all manner of means." 
 
 It might be well to say that Miss is still living. 
 
 Sis had two soldiers to propose to her in 1863, 
 one of whom had lost an ann, and the other a leg, 
 in battle. For quite a while, she could not tell 
 which of the two she preferred. 
 
 She was a bright, mischievous girl and would 
 reason and argue with all apparent seriousness to 
 her friends about the merits and demerits of the 
 cases, as represented in the two applicants for her
 
 116 The Ballantynes 
 
 hand, and would pretend to weigh the compara- 
 tive advantages of possessing an armless or leg- 
 less husband. One day she saw the two leaning 
 against each other as if it required both to keep 
 a standing position. From her angle of view, she 
 saw three legs in a row beneath, and three arms 
 above, while the two bodies seemed to be merged 
 into one. In expressing herself to intimate friends 
 about it afterwards, she said : 
 
 ''They looked spidery; and made me think of a 
 centipede. I couldn't think of marrying either 
 one after that sight." 
 
 To them she had the sauciness if not the heart- 
 lessness to say, it took both of them to make one 
 man, and she wanted for herself a whole individ- 
 ual when she married. 
 
 Perhaps the speech brought a retributive judg- 
 ment down upon her. In 1864, she met a dashing 
 young officer to whom she engaged herself. He 
 went to the "front" and in the next battle lost one 
 of his eyes. He wrote her word about the pain- 
 ful affliction, and she replied cheerily that it was 
 all right; that she had two and they could get 
 along. In the second battle, his arm was shot off 
 by a shell. As soon as he could, he acquainted Sis 
 with the loss. But very cordial and comforting 
 was her response, that she accepted what was left. 
 
 In the fourth battle, his right leg was so badly
 
 The Ballantynes 117 
 
 shattered by a minnie ball, that it had to be ampu- 
 tated. In his bulletin to Sis, the young officer 
 stated that he seemed to be leaving the world by 
 sections, and that there was so much less of him 
 than when he first proposed to her, fully a third 
 of himself being in the grave, that he considered 
 it his duty to give her the opportunity of cancel- 
 ling the engagement and marrying a man who had 
 more than two-thirds of his body above ground. 
 
 Her reply by the next mail was original, cheer- 
 ing and very reassuring. She, after expressing 
 great sympathy for his sufferings, added, 
 
 "As long as there is enough of you to be 
 propped up before the preacher and make re- 
 sponses, I will marry that part." 
 
 He lost nothing more of his physical structure, 
 and came home with great militarj^ honor at the 
 close of the War, having been promoted to a 
 Mayorship for gallantry on the battlefield. His 
 first work was to remedy defects made by balls 
 and bullets as far as possible, and then secondly 
 to marry. So, with a glass eye so natural that 
 one could hardly tell it from the true one; and 
 with an artificial arm and leg that worked easily 
 and lightly without creaking; and with a nice 
 tailor-made suit covering all and fitting well, he 
 looked the gallant man that he was, bore off his 
 blushing bride to a home he had prepared, and
 
 118 TJie Ballantynes 
 
 did more for her in material comforts than many- 
 husbands can afi'ord who have two eyes and the 
 whole complement of physical members. 
 
 Boo, who had inherited his father's proclivity 
 to fall into various things, and started it as a boy 
 by^ tumbling into a forty-foot well, kept up the 
 practice after he drew his share of the property 
 and moved away to a distant State. Every report 
 which came back represented him as having had 
 some new fall, one into bad company^ another into 
 gross misconduct, a third into debt, a fourth into 
 poverty, a fifth from the back of a ininaway^ horse, 
 and a sixth into the grave. 
 
 Bud, after squandering his part of the patri- 
 mony, roamed around first among his relatives 
 and friends, and then among strangers in a shift- 
 less, thriftless kind of way, and finally astonished 
 every^body by marrying a rich widow, ten years 
 older than himself. As it proved, he never did a 
 wiser and better thing, for the woman really loved 
 him and saw that he wanted for nothing. His old 
 favorite piece of music, "Chicken in the Bread 
 Tray," had come true at last. Bud being the chick- 
 en, and the widow furnishing the Bread Tray. 
 Nor did she stop at that, but her influence was so 
 powerful and excellent that she made Bud give 
 up all of his evil ways, join the church, and trans-
 
 The Ballantynes 119 
 
 formed him into what the world calls a good man. 
 
 So it came to pass, as is often the case in the 
 South, that the entire family disappeared. The 
 plantation had long before been sold, and the 
 homestead vears afterward followed suit and 
 passed into the hands of strangers. 
 
 For quite a while, the Mansion, with its waving, 
 sighing trees about it, remained the same, so that 
 at night when the windows shone brightly, and 
 some one touched the keys of a piano inside, one 
 could almost believe that Sis had glided in and 
 was about to give us ''The Maiden's Prayer," or 
 Miss would treat us to a tremulous rendition of 
 ''The Lonely Bird." 
 
 But, no! the touch on the keys was different, 
 and the pieces were dissimilar. And it could not 
 be so anyhow, for the people who once lived under 
 the rooftree were now widely scattered on earth, 
 and some were in the other world. 
 
 The old trees on the lawn and in the yard con- 
 tinued to reach out their branches and sigh, as if 
 they missed their former owners. They seemed 
 to be wondering what had become of the grave, 
 thoughtful faced man who used to sit on the gal- 
 lery and gaze fixedlj^ for hours through their vis- 
 tas into space. And where were the laughing, 
 romping boys who were wont to frolic under their
 
 120 The Ballantynes 
 
 shade, and swing in their branches! They never 
 came back, and so the trees grieved and mourned 
 about it. 
 
 Finally the day arrived and another stranger 
 came and bought the old Ballantyne Mansion. 
 Being of a very practical utilitarian turn of mind, 
 this new comer and owner cut down all of the 
 shrubbery with its wilderness of roses, next 
 plowed up the lawn, and planted it in turnips and 
 potatoes. Still later, he sawed the house in two 
 sections and moved both portions several hundred 
 yards away down the hill by the branch, and 
 rented them out to colored people. 
 
 His last act was to bring in some wood choppers 
 and level the beautiful grove with the dust. So 
 scores of forest monarchs of oak, beech and pine, 
 that had flung their protecting shadows over 
 three generations of the Ballantyne family; that 
 had seen a nation rise to its feet in 1861, and go 
 down in smoke, blood and ruin in 1865; that had 
 beheld still further back and witnessed the plumed 
 Indian warrior court his dusky bride under their 
 shadows, and disappear with the gleam of the 
 rifle and axe of the white man ; these same grand 
 old trees, full of the secrets of the past, were cut 
 down and turned into cord wood. 
 
 It would be difficult for one to realize now as 
 he glances over the denuded hillside, all covered
 
 The Ballantynes 121 
 
 with truck gardens and a field of billowy com, 
 that up there once, was one of the many beautiful 
 and typical homes of the South. Nevertheless, it 
 stood there, lovely for situation, famous for its 
 hospitality, and equally celebrated in the fact, 
 that the cordial spirit of the household was only 
 surpassed by the refreshing originality of the 
 family.
 
 A STRANGE HOMESTEAD 
 
 123
 
 A Strange Homestead 
 
 My cousin, Mrs. Amy Balfour, had been looking 
 for a certain kind of dwelling for several days. 
 She had gone up avenues and had come down 
 streets and cut across squares, but after a week's 
 search was no nearer success than at the begin- 
 ning. The houses that were desirable were al- 
 ready occupied, and the few which were unin- 
 habited were too small, or too large, or too far 
 out, or too near in, or too something that pre- 
 cluded all idea of renting. 
 
 But my cousin was a woman not easily discour- 
 aged. She distinguished between weariness of 
 the body and sinking of the spirit. The first she 
 could not prevent, but the second she would not 
 tolerate. She came, as she had been known to say 
 more than once, of good stock, not a coward 
 among the men, and all the women true daughters 
 of noble sires. Her father was known as Col. 
 Something Lindsay, I forget his given name. He 
 had distinguished himself in a war, but which 
 one I do not now remember, whether Mexican or 
 Indian; and I also fail to recall how he dis- 
 
 125
 
 126 A Strange Homestead 
 
 tinguished himself. He either surrounded three 
 Mexicans or Indians, or they surrounded him; 
 and he either cut his way through them or they cut 
 their way through him, I do not remember which, 
 and it really does not matter, for they are all 
 dead now, the Colonel, the Mexicans and the In- 
 dians. 
 
 The only point I would make is that when Col. 
 Lindsay died he left his plucky spirit to his one 
 daughter, together with an old gully-washed, 
 sedge-covered plantation, and the saber he had 
 used in that war, the name of which I am so sorry 
 I have forgotten. 
 
 In due time my cousin married, and after a 
 few years was left a widow with the privilege of 
 taking care of herself; her husband having pre- 
 ferred to run through with what he owned, be- 
 fore he should go hence and be no more. The 
 widow's income from the gully washed place was 
 four bales of cotton a vear. This amount evi- 
 dently needed supplementing, so my cousin for 
 several years had taken boarders, and making a 
 success of it in a small house, was now seeking to 
 lengthen her cords and push out her stakes in the 
 shape of a larger domicile. 
 
 It was near the hour of sunset when she sud- 
 denly came upon the verv house she desired. It 
 was a three-story brick residence sitting back
 
 A Strange Homestead 127 
 
 from the street and occupying almost the center 
 of the lot. In front was a yard without grass or 
 walks, in which several forest trees swayed and 
 sighed. On one of them was tacked up a pla- 
 card, **For Sale or Rent." To the right was a 
 kitchen garden utterly gone to weeds, and on the 
 left was an orchard in just as melancholy a con- 
 dition. 
 
 There was a large forlorn looking back yard 
 with several out houses that were empty and 
 falling to ruin. One of them had a sunken foun- 
 dation in front, and appeared to be going down 
 on its knees like a camel. A couple of dilapidated 
 wash tubs, an overturned chicken coop and a well 
 with no rope or bucket, completed the external 
 furniture. The only sound on the place was a 
 mournful creaking of some unseen door, and the 
 occasional bang of a distant shutter when the 
 wind would arise with a momentary gust. It 
 was simply impossible to hear these echoes in 
 the lonely enclosure without a nem^ous start, a 
 creepy sensation down the back, and an appre- 
 hensive backward glance to see if anybody was 
 looking at or stealing upon one from the shadowy 
 bam or the open door of the smoke house. 
 
 The main building, however, was the chief ob- 
 ject of interest. It had a steep roof with two 
 dormer windows, which led backward into the
 
 128 A Strange Homestead 
 
 attic. A couple of faded red curtains hung 
 loosely over the sash. Either they had not been 
 worth removing or had been overlooked on the 
 departure of the last tenant. All the other win- 
 dows on the lower floors were closed with solid 
 wooden shutters. There was a back gallery, 
 while in front a portico projected over the hall 
 door at the right hand comer. Through the nar- 
 row side windows on each side of the door could 
 be had a dim view of a long shadowy passage 
 terminating with a broad staircase which disap- 
 peared upward in still dimmer regions. One of 
 the wooden gutters over the porch had become 
 choked with dead leaves near the spout, and made 
 a kind of dam for the last rain. The moisture 
 leaked through the honey-combed wood and fell 
 in drops upon the floor with a melancholy mono- 
 tone. 
 
 The place had an appearance of gloom and 
 mystery about it. One could not but wonder, and 
 many did marvel, why a dwelling with such am- 
 ple grounds should remain untenanted from 
 month to month and year to year. The houses 
 all about it were occupied, the town in which it 
 was located was large and prosperous and resi- 
 dences seemed to be in demand; ''Why was this 
 domicile vacant?" 
 
 This was the very question my cousin Amy
 
 A Strange Homestead 129 
 
 asked of a couple, a man and a woman, who were 
 passing by as she leaned against the gate look- 
 ing at the deserted building. The answer they 
 gave was: "They say it is haunted, Madam." 
 
 It is said there is a vein of superstition in every- 
 body, but as my acquaintance is confined to a few 
 thousand of the human race, and there are a 
 billion and a half of the aforesaid family that I 
 have not had the opportunity of interviewing on 
 the subject, of course about this I cannot speak 
 assuredly. 
 
 It is a fact, however, that Cousin Amy's heart 
 gave a little jump when she received the blunt 
 answer I have written. She had felt a small 
 bound of the same organ when she first beheld 
 the house, and still another when she read the 
 placard, "For Sale or Rent," on one of the large 
 shade trees; but this jump was different from 
 the other two. The first was one of hope, the 
 
 second of joy, and the third and last was well, 
 
 it was not like the others. But Cousin Amy 
 would never have admitted that it was a super- 
 stitious thrill or motion of fear. 
 
 The sun was setting, some locusts were drowsily 
 singing in the trees before the deserted home, 
 the shadows were filling the yards, while the air 
 of loneliness and moumfulness about the dwell- 
 ing which had struck her at the first view, nat-
 
 130 A Strange Homestead 
 
 urally deepened under the words of her inform- 
 ant. But shaking off the impression, my Cousin 
 turned to the man and said, laughingly: 
 
 ''It is not possible that you believe in such a 
 thing as haunted houses?" 
 
 The person questioned was evidently a day 
 laborer. His speech was slow and deliberate and 
 he had an impassive, not to say sad face. The 
 ghost could not have had a better introducer or 
 defender, so far as manner was concerned, than 
 this individual. His wife, a blue-eyed, thin-look- 
 ing, washed-out piece of humanity stood nervous- 
 ly twitching her fingers around the top of one of 
 the palings, while her husband carried on the 
 conversation. 
 
 My cousin was a tall, slender woman, and al- 
 ways dressed in deepest black with a long crepe 
 veil pinned to her bonnet and falling backwards. 
 As she had been compelled to take care of herself 
 since her husband's death, she had developed 
 into what is called a common sense business wo- 
 man. She kept up with the market prices and the 
 Eeal Estate Reports, read no sentimental novels, 
 and had no books of uncanny lore in her small 
 library. As a girl she had never believed in 
 fairies, and as a grown woman had no faith in 
 ghosts. She had never heard of "The Golden 
 Bug," "The Black Cat," nor "The Murder of
 
 A Strange Homestead 131 
 
 The Eue St. Morgue." She usiiallj^ straightened 
 up her household accounts at night, read briefly 
 in her Prayer Book, slept soundly and awoke 
 with a good appetite. 
 
 The fact was, that upon a little reflection she 
 was not sorry to hear the house was haunted, as 
 she saw that the rental price of the building 
 would naturally be considerably lower than that 
 of one which was level-headed, so to speak, 
 and behaved itself properly, not only in the day, 
 but at night as well, a time in which so many peo- 
 ple and things take advantage to cut up gen- 
 erally. 
 
 So my cousin put a number of questions to the 
 man, and drew from him the facts that several 
 families had moved into the tenement but never 
 stayed more than a few days. That it had lain 
 idle for years until two months before, a gardener 
 and his family had braved the reports and came 
 with garden seed, implements, vegetables and all, 
 rejoicing that with such ample grounds they could 
 make an easy living through the markets. This 
 gardener had only stayed two days and nights 
 when he and his wife looked like ghosts them- 
 selves, and iDacked up early one morning and 
 drove away. 
 
 ''What do they all say happens inside?" asked 
 mv Cousin.
 
 132 A Strange Homestead 
 
 '*Too many things to tell you. One is that peo- 
 ple walk up and down the stairs all night. Then 
 the bells get to ringing. Then they hear someone 
 fall in the room on the second floor. Beside this 
 they hear a gurgling like a man choking to death, 
 and I can't tell you what all." 
 
 My cousin was on the point of laughing out- 
 right, but noticing the narrator's grave manner 
 and how evidently affected he was by the rumors 
 flying about in regard to the dwelling, she drew 
 her veil quickly before her mouth to conceal her 
 smiles. 
 
 "Is that all vou can tell me?" she asked, after 
 steadying her voice. 
 
 "Ain't that enough, Madam?" returned the 
 man, looking with a wondering air upon her. 
 Then continuing, he said: 
 
 "There is more if I had time to tell you all I 
 have heard, but this much I have seen myself. 
 Do you see those two windows in the roof with the 
 red curtains hanging over them?" 
 
 My cousin lifted her eyes upward and said: 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "Well," resumed the other, "what if I should 
 tell you that twice I have seen the corner of that 
 right hand curtain lifted and a face like that of 
 a dead man looking down at me?" 
 
 My cousin, as I have said, had no nonsense
 
 A Strange Homestead 133 
 
 about her, but the speaker's words were so solemn, 
 and the excitement which had grown upon him 
 was so marked that, sensible woman though she 
 was, yet as she listened with her eyes fixed upon 
 the windows, she again felt peculiarly, and real- 
 ized an unmistakable shivering sensation that 
 took the vertebral column for a highway of 
 travel, but also branched off in various directions 
 through and around the body. 
 
 The man's wife here broke in, saying: 
 ''Nothing could ever get me to look up at that 
 window, for if I did and saw that face staring 
 at me I would drop dead in my tracks. I just 
 know I would." 
 
 Then pulling her husband by the arm, she con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "It is getting late, let's go home." 
 When the couple left, my cousin walked inside 
 the yard, and, approaching the placard on the 
 tree, took down the address of the Agent, She 
 next ascended the steps to the portico, glancing 
 through the window pane at the shadowy hall 
 and stairway; took a circuit about the house, 
 walked through the back yard, looked into the 
 k'neeling tenement with its open but dark door- 
 way, and returning to the starting point stood 
 under the trees gazing at the place while revolv- 
 ing certain plans in her mind. The building
 
 134 A Strange Homestead 
 
 fronted west and had the light of the dying day 
 on its upper part. Suddenly remembering what 
 the man said about the right hand dormer win- 
 dow, she raised her eyes and to her amazement 
 saw the lower corner of the red curtain partly 
 lifted, and back a foot or so from the portal she 
 beheld the face of a man, cadaverous and death- 
 like, looking at her. In another instant the cur- 
 tain dropped and moved no more. 
 
 Now I have said twice already that my cousin 
 was a sensible, cool-headed woman, not given to 
 fainting or hysterics or anything of that kind; 
 but while I want that understood, yet she was a 
 woman and had some nerves. If she had ever 
 doubted the last fact she did so no longer. She 
 also found that she had an extra supply of blood 
 and that it had suddenly poured itself back on her 
 heart, and there was a curious ringing in her ears 
 and something got the matter with her breathing 
 apparatus. But she rallied, buttoned her gloves, 
 arranged her veil, saying, ' ' pshaw, ' ' and walked 
 away. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as business houses 
 had opened, my cousin went down town and 
 sought the office of the Agent of the vacant home. 
 He looked up from his morning paper at her en- 
 trance, and when she made known her errand visi- 
 bly warmed up and even showed cordiality. This
 
 A Strange Homestead 135 
 
 hearty manner became graciousness itself when 
 the visitor said she was willing on the morrow to 
 pay down a quarter's rent in advance. 
 
 There was a lurking smile, however, in the 
 corner of his mouth when his new lessee re- 
 quested certain repairs and additions to be made. 
 But if he suspected in his heart that after one 
 night's occupancy of the house she would be glad 
 to get away and never mention restorations and 
 alterations again, he did not betray the secret 
 thought, but promising all should be done that 
 could in reason be demanded, he placed the house 
 keys in her hand and courteously bowed her out 
 of the office. 
 
 Outside of a few jewels and some heavy ma- 
 hogany furniture the only other personal posses- 
 sion of my cousin was a negi'o woman named 
 Maria. She had been a faithful family sen-ant 
 for a number of years, and though fiftv vears of 
 age was strong and active, and knew not what 
 it was to have an ache or pain. As the family 
 had dropped into the grave one by one, all of 
 Maria's love had settled upon my cousin, the soli- 
 tary sunavor of the old Southern household. 
 
 Like all the colored race, Maria was deeply 
 superstitious and a firm believer in ghosts, 
 witches and other interesting characters of the 
 cemetery and mid air. My cousin knew it would
 
 136 A Strange Homestead 
 
 never do to tell her all concerning their new 
 dwelling; that if she did, such would be the fears 
 of the woman that the idea she now had in her 
 mind could never be carried out. Her plan was 
 to go to the house in company with Maria that 
 very afternoon and spend the night supplied with 
 a lounge for herself, a pallet for the servant, a 
 couple of chairs and small table, a lamp and lan- 
 tern, and armed with a heavy walking stick which 
 could have felled an ox, and the saber once wield- 
 ed by her father. 
 
 Maria looked somewhat disturbed when my 
 cousin told her they would pass the first night 
 in the house alone; but when she saw the gloomy 
 looking building she exhibited still greater signs 
 of alarm, and when the cartman who had brought 
 their little load laid the articles down before the 
 door and seemed anxious to get away, casting 
 furtive glances about while my cousin was set- 
 tling with him, Maria fairly broke down and ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 "Whut fur, Miss Amy, you gwine to stay in 
 sich a lonesome whippoor5V'ill place? Why doan 
 you wait till yer boders come?" 
 
 ''No," replied my cousin, firmly, ''we will get 
 the place cleaned and fixed up before the boarders 
 arrive, and we can attend to that better here than 
 by staying up town."
 
 A Strange Homestead 137 
 
 "You mean, Honey, ef de Lawd spares us. I 
 nuvver seed sicli a lonesome place. I feel like we 
 gwine ter be kilt hyer in col' blood." 
 
 So muttering, grumbling, and groaning she fol- 
 lowed my cousin as she tried first one key and 
 then another, and at last opening the front door 
 entered the hall. The passage had a damp, 
 mouldy smell from having been long shut up, and 
 my cousin told Maria to throw up the side win- 
 dows, which the woman did with cautious turn- 
 ings of her head meanwhile to see if anyone was 
 approaching her from the rear. 
 
 By the time the two women had swept out the 
 lower hall and front room, brought in the chairs 
 and lounge, set the couch up and made the two 
 beds, it was dusk. 
 
 Lighting their one lamp and placing it in the 
 hall, my cousin sat down on the steps of the por- 
 tico for a little thought and rest. The locusts in 
 the trees were at their old drowsy song. The 
 street in front was a quiet one and there was but 
 little passing on it day or night. But she had 
 come to investigate the mystery of this house. 
 She wanted the place, had concluded to take it, 
 and was determined to find out at the beginning 
 all about its uncannv historv. 
 
 She had gathered enough by hearsay about 
 ghosts, to know that they seemed to prefer mid-
 
 138 A Strange Homestead 
 
 night for their promenades at home and abroad, 
 and she was infonned by the hands of her little 
 gold watch that she had nearly six hours to wait. 
 So she was naturally astounded when an unearthly 
 yell proceeded from within the hall, followed by 
 a black body making for the steps; the yell and 
 body both belonging to Maria. 
 
 In answer to the quick repeated question, 
 **What on earth is the matter?" Maria gasped 
 out that she had seen ^'sumpin' white standin' 
 up dar at de head uv de stairs." 
 
 My cousin promptly ran into the hall, caught 
 up the lamp and holding it above her head gazed 
 upward to the head of the staircase, which wound 
 to the left and disappeared in the gloom of the 
 second story. There was nothing to be seen, so 
 she went up as high as the turn in the stairway 
 and threw the light in the upper hall— but all 
 was empty and still. 
 
 As a first experience the above was not very 
 reassuring, and brought from Maria the most 
 earnest entreaties: 
 
 *'Fur de Lawd's sake. Miss Amy, les' git away 
 f'um dis Gawdfursaken place an' let de Ghosses 
 hev it to dey selves." 
 
 My cousin, in reply, told Maria not to be silly, 
 and led her out on the porch where she could see 
 the twinkling street lamps and note an occasional
 
 A Strange Homestead 139 
 
 passerby. Then sitting on the top step she sang 
 some of her favorite ballads with her back to the 
 door, while Maria on the third step affecting to 
 be listening to the song turned her eyes contin- 
 ually toward the hall entrance as if she moment- 
 arily expected a Ghost or the Devil himself. 
 
 At eight o'clock they arose to go in. They 
 barred the hall portal, lowered the windows, and 
 entering the front room locked that door, put the 
 stick and saber in a convenient place, trimmed 
 the lamp and placed the lantern, with some 
 matches, by the side of the lounge. 
 
 Maria, in spite of her alarm, was sleepy headed 
 like her race, and soon fell into a deep slumber. 
 My cousin sat up reading a couple of hours. She 
 had intended keeping awake all night, but being 
 unusually tired from the long house hunting trips 
 of the week, the wearied body asserted itself, and 
 she, too, was soon in the land of dreams. 
 
 Suddenly she was aroused by the sound of a 
 heavy fall which seemed to come from the room 
 just overhead. In an instant she was wide awake, 
 and sitting on the side of the lounge listened most 
 intently. Maria was still asleep and had heard 
 nothing. 
 
 Everything remained perfectly quiet for fully 
 five minutes, when the bells in the house began 
 to ring. She could plainly distinguish that it
 
 140 A Strange Homestead 
 
 was not the front door bell, but those which hung 
 in the dining room and the room beyond, where 
 there were fully half a dozen connecting with dif- 
 ferent parts of the house. 
 
 Maria was now wide awake and thoroughly 
 frightened. The whites of her eyes became two 
 circles while she grasped her mistress by the arm 
 and whispered hoarsely: 
 
 "Miss Amy, whut in de name of de Lawd is 
 all datl" 
 
 "We are going to find out," answered my 
 cousin firmly, while making a movement to the 
 door. 
 
 "Laws-a-mussy, Miss Amy," said the terrified 
 woman; "you sholy ain't gwine outen dis room 
 an' 'peril yohse'f dat way 'mungst all dese 
 Ghosses and whut not?" 
 
 "I certainly am," replied my cousin, in a firm 
 tone. "I am going to get at the bottom of all 
 these strange midnight happenings before an- 
 other day dawns." 
 
 So, giving the walking stick to Maria, taking 
 the sword for herself and holding the lanteni in 
 her left hand, she quickly opened the door and 
 stood for a moment listening and peering upward 
 into the shadows of the stairs and upper hall. 
 Distinctly they heard muffled footsteps as if some 
 one was descending the second flight and coming
 
 A Strange Homestead 141 
 
 clown the passage to the first landing, but they 
 died away and no form appeared at the head of 
 the staircase. 
 
 The third time the bells began ringing. Turn- 
 ing the lamp up to its full height Cousin Amy 
 started at once in that direction, bidding Maria 
 to follow her closely, a perfectly needless com- 
 mand, as that panic-struck personage had no idea 
 of being left behind. On entering the dining room 
 she obsei^^ed the clapper of the solitary bell in 
 that apartment swaying to and fro, though mak- 
 ing no sound, and on going into the small passage 
 beyond found all those which hung there in a row 
 in a like tremulous condition. Even while she 
 was looking at them they began to ring again as 
 did the one they had just left, and two others they 
 could hear in the servants' room on the second 
 floor. 
 
 At the sight and sound of these unearthly do- 
 ings, Maria came very nearly falling, and with a 
 most beseeching wail in her voice, cried: 
 
 "Fur de Lawd's sake. Miss Amy, less git outen 
 dis infunnel ole house. I'm fitten to drap now an' 
 my heart done stop beatin'." 
 
 Cousin Amy was herself quite pale, but the 
 spirit of the man who once wielded the sword 
 was in the daughter, and the white hand grasped 
 the saber in a way which meant trouble to anv
 
 142 A Strange Homestead 
 
 thing thicker than moonshine. Speaking firmly 
 to Maria, she said: 
 
 **If you drop down here, then whoever may be 
 in the house will be certain to get you; but if you 
 stick to me and do as I tell you, you may come 
 out all right." 
 
 Maria saw the point and said nothing more 
 about ''drappin'." 
 
 My cousin saw that the wires from the bells 
 in the passageway, with the one in the room, ran 
 along the wall near the top of the ceiling and dis- 
 appeared in a large closet located in a comer of 
 the apartment. Approaching it she opened the 
 door suddenly with lamp uplifted and sword 
 drawn. There was nothing to be seen only some 
 empty shelves, and a kind of boxing six inches 
 square which extended from one side of the closet 
 to the other. This she at once recognized as con- 
 taining the bell wires. She stood looking at it 
 for a full minute, and then a very queer look 
 came upon her face. 
 
 Her next move was toward the hall stairs, and 
 with an order to Maria to hold her brass lamp 
 high, she led the way upward to the second floor. 
 At the top they listened, and again heard the soft 
 retreating steps. Going to the room from which 
 the sound of the fall proceeded, and turning the 
 knob of the door, only emptiness, dust, and some 
 litter were revealed.
 
 A Strange Homestead 143 
 
 Here my cousin stood full of thought for sev- 
 eral minutes. Could the sound have come from 
 this room or the one above on the third floor! 
 Turning, they went from chamber to chamber, but 
 quietness and vacancy met them everj^where. 
 They next mounted the second flight which led to 
 the third story, and paused to take breath and 
 reconnoiter. This floor corresponded to the second 
 with the exception of a lower ceiling. A narrow 
 stairway led to the attic, from which the dormer 
 windows projected. 
 
 As they stood together, a puff of wind swept 
 by them from the attic bringing the odor of some- 
 thing dead, so sickening that both had to cover 
 their nostrils. 
 
 Maria had just whispered, ''Dey's sumpin'dead 
 up dar, Miss Amy," when suddenly she gave a 
 loud scream, her lamp flew up in the air and 
 fell, with the crash of the glass chimney, from 
 step to step to the bottom of the stairs, rolled a 
 few feet on the floor and stopped with ex- 
 tinguished light. 
 
 Cousin Amy instantly grasped the agitated 
 negro who now looked ready to follow the lamp, 
 and demanded: 
 
 "What on earth is the matter, Maria T* 
 
 ' * Wut 's de mattah ! ' ' gasped the trembling wo- 
 man. ''Why, ev'ything is de mattah. Sumpin'
 
 144 A Strange Homestead 
 
 cole dun toch my nekked foot. I speck *twuz 
 dat dead man in de attick." 
 
 "Oh, fiddlesticks!" jerked out my cousin, im- 
 patiently. *'I thought you had seen something." 
 
 ''I dun wuss 'en see him. I dun felt him." 
 
 "Felt who?" 
 
 "Why, dat dead man in de attick." 
 
 "Who said there was a dead man in the attic?" 
 asked my cousin, sharply. 
 
 "Who say 'd it? Nobody say 'd it. I dun smelt 
 him," replied the woman, with an air of one who 
 had clinched a matter and there was now no 
 question or appeal in the case. Then, as they 
 heard the bells beginning to peal forth again 
 down stairs, Maria burst forth into a torrent of 
 entreaties. 
 
 * * Miss Amy, Honey Chile, less git away f um dis 
 hyer place. Fur de sake uv yer Maw an' yer 
 Paw in Heben, less git outen hyer. Whut dey 
 think ef dey could see you hyer in dis ole chun- 
 nel house. Drat de ole bam, I wish I lied never 
 seed it. Jes' lis'n ter dem bells down stairs ur 
 ringin' fur dead niggers. Oh, Miss Amy, fur de 
 Lawd's sake, an' fur yer ole Mammy's sake, less 
 go." 
 
 But the pleading words and coaxing tones all 
 failed with my cousin, who, taking up her sword 
 and lantern, which she had laid down in order to
 
 A Strange Homestead 145 
 
 help Maria up from the floor, approached the 
 room that was located over the chamber where 
 the sounds of falling had been heard. Like all 
 the other apartments of the house there was only- 
 emptiness, dust, some straw and bits of paper. 
 
 Cousin Amy opened the door of the closet, 
 peered behind the chimney, glanced into the cor- 
 ners, tapped the wall, but could make no discov- 
 eries. As they stood silent after the investigation 
 they heard the town clock striking the hour of 
 one. A moment later a peculiar grating sound 
 as if a file was being used just outside of the win- 
 dow, fell upon the ear. Maria, whose nerves were 
 by this time all shattered, said, with chattering 
 teeth: 
 
 **Miss Amy, do you hyer dat dead man grittin' 
 his teeth?" 
 
 ''Nonsense," answered my cousin, "how can a 
 dead man grind his teeth?" 
 
 Then going to the window she raised the sash 
 and quietly opening the shutters looked out. It 
 was a beautiful starry night, and the Great Bear 
 in silver outline was stretched above and along 
 the horizon; but my cousin had no eye nor thought 
 of astronomy or celestial beauties at this time. 
 Her glance was first directed to the ground and 
 then to the side of the house to see if there was 
 a burglar crowned ladder anj^here near. But
 
 146 A Strange Homestead 
 
 neither man nor ladder were in siglit. Then, 
 gazing fixedly for several minutes at something 
 outside, she closed the shutters, lowered the sash, 
 and taking up the sword and lantern walked out 
 into the hall. Again she had that queer look on 
 her face. 
 
 When she started to the attic, Maria became 
 eloquent in her pleadings and protests against 
 * * gwine whar dat dead man wuz. ' ' 
 
 But her mistress pressed up the stairway, and, 
 as Maria preferred facing a dead man in com- 
 pany to being left alone in the dark, she followed 
 her with alacrity of feet but great heaviness of 
 heart. 
 
 The attic door was open, and as they drew near 
 the stench became almost unbearable. But 
 Cousin Amy, keyed up to a high pitch, fairly 
 plunged her way inside the door, uplifted her 
 lantern and stood for a moment transfixed at the 
 sight of an object lying in the middle of the floor! 
 
 In another instant she hastened to a small side 
 window and let a draft of pure night air into the 
 room, while Maria, with her apron covering 
 mouth and nostrils, exclaimed in muffled accents: 
 
 ''Well, laws-a-mussy, who'd a thunk it?" 
 
 My cousin, with another glance at the object 
 on the floor, turaed to the right hand window 
 where she had seen the face looking down at her
 
 A Strange Homestead 147 
 
 in the yard. Entering the recess with her lantern 
 and peering around a wooden frame that was 
 leaning against the wall, she suddenly encoun- 
 tered the face! 
 
 It, however, was not looking at her, but toward 
 the window. AValking quietly from the place. 
 Cousin Amy left the room and passed down the 
 stall's, this time Maria leading the way "to be 
 in de light so sumpin' koodn' grab her f'um be- 
 hin'." 
 
 As my cousin went down the three stair cases 
 into the room on the first floor which they had 
 occupied, she had again a very peculiar expres- 
 sion of countenance. 
 
 Locking the door and placing the lantern on 
 the table to bum through the night for Maria's 
 sake, she reclined on her couch and composed 
 herself for sleep. Maria affinned she was afraid 
 to lie down, and so sat up at the foot of her Mis- 
 tress' bed, and nodded through the balance of 
 the night in true darkey style. The sight of her 
 dumpy figure, big red bandana handkerchief on 
 her bowing head, the sleepy eyes suddenly open- 
 ing, rolling around in quest of spirits, and then 
 slowly closing again, was a spectacle that even 
 if it did not .scare a ghost, would have given him, 
 her, or it, whatever may be the gender of a wraith, 
 a great deal of wonder, not to say amusement.
 
 148 A Strange Homestead 
 
 Who can tell but the ghosts of the house 
 watched her that night. In fact one did come and 
 sit in a chair by the fire-place and contemplated 
 the nodding woman as, sitting on the floor with 
 back to the wall and outstretched feet, she meas- 
 ured off the remaining hours with dippings, roll- 
 ings, jerkings and oscillations of the head in gen- 
 eral. I don't know what he thought, for he said 
 nothing, but after a while got up and left as he 
 came in, without opening the door. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Next morning my cousin wrote tlie following 
 notes, all of which she dispatched by the hand of 
 Maria. The first was to a druggist and read: 
 
 Mr. Chamberlain: 
 
 Please send me by my servant Maria, thirty 
 grains of strychnine. I enclose the money. 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 Mrs. Amy Balfour. 
 
 The second was to the agent of the house, and 
 ran as follows: 
 
 Mr. R. L. Merrill, 
 
 Real Estate Agent. 
 
 Dear Sir: I will take the house and herewith 
 send you check for the first quarter's rent. 
 
 In addition to the repairs you kindly promised
 
 A Strange Homestead 149 
 
 to make, there are some minor details to be at- 
 tended to which you have not noticed, but which 
 I discovered last night by remaining on the 
 premises. 
 
 I find that the rats have gnawed a hole in the 
 box casing which contains the bell wires in the 
 closet and in making their nest inside and run- 
 ning over the wires, it occasions a jingling of the 
 bells, especially at night, making an unpleasant 
 and gruesome sound to hear. 
 
 I discover, also, a number of rat holes in the 
 walls of the rooms. Please send a tinner with his 
 tools and some strips of zinc or tin to have them 
 covered. This, with a liberal dose of strychnine 
 which 1 have ordered to-day, will save us hereaf- 
 ter from a company of night visitors whose use 
 of the staircase after bed time until morning, in 
 traveling up and down and jumping from step 
 to step makes another sound not particularly 
 agreeable. 
 
 In the front upper room of the second floor and 
 between the ceiling and flooring I am confident 
 there is a plank or joist that is loose or balanced 
 some way so that by the rising of the wind or un- 
 der the weight of a rat running over it, it makes 
 a bumping, falling sound which is quite startling 
 to hear day or night, but especially at night. By
 
 150 A Strange Homestead 
 
 ripping up a part of the flooring the joist or plank 
 can be removed and the matter rectified. 
 
 I also found out last night that the tin gutter- 
 ing on the north side of the house near the third 
 floor has worked loose and makes, when the wind 
 is blowing, a scraping, grating sound. A whole 
 section will fall if it is not nailed on afresh at 
 once. 
 
 By attending to these things immediately you 
 will greatly oblige, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Mrs. Amy Balfour. 
 
 A third note was written to a keeper and owner 
 of carts and wagons: 
 
 Mr. Gibson: 
 
 Please send at once a man with a small wagon 
 to 144 Blank Street, to remove from the attic a 
 quantity of decayed matter in the shape of nearly 
 a cartload of vegetables which the last tenant 
 overlooked and left to rot and produce disease. 
 
 In haste, 
 
 Mrs. Balfour. 
 
 But, says the reader, there are several things 
 you have forgotten to explain, and one was the
 
 A Strange Homestead 151 
 
 great yellow face looking down at your cousin 
 from the dormer window. 
 
 ''Yes, that is so. It was the face of George 
 Washington." 
 
 "Ridiculous," you say, "what was George 
 Washington doing up in that old garret?" 
 
 "I never said that George Washington was up 
 there, but his face." 
 
 "I suppose you mean his picture?" 
 
 "Yes, that's it; some one had a chromo of the 
 Father of his Country. The face was large and 
 had become yellow with time, and, looking out 
 from a dark background, it was anything but life- 
 like and attractive. The owner of the daub had 
 either tired of or forgotten it, and it had been 
 placed in the window recess as described. Here my 
 cousin found it tilted forward with one corner of 
 the frame resting against the window, so that the 
 face had a downward gaze upon the street." 
 
 ' ' But what about the strange lifting of the cur- 
 tain that the workman and your cousin both no- 
 ticed?" 
 
 "That is easily explained. Right in front of 
 the i^icture the window pane was gone, and when- 
 ever the wind shifted to the west and blew in, the 
 curtain would be lifted as if by an invisible hand, 
 and that great ^^ellow face would be seen for a mo- 
 ment gazing down in the street and freezing the
 
 152 A Strange Homestead 
 
 blood of superstitious people. One thing is cer- 
 tain, that when Cousin Amy made a fire screen 
 of the picture, and had a new pane of glass put 
 in, the curtain behaved itself from that time, and 
 the only faces that were ever seen afterwards at 
 the window were the countenances of my cousin 
 and Maria. ' ' 
 
 ''But what of the white something that Maria 
 saw at the head of the staircase when she yelled 
 so vigorously!" 
 
 ''She never saw anything. It was the vivid 
 African fancy with its proneness to see 'sumpin' 
 white' or 'sumpin' black' on the slightest provo- 
 cation." 
 
 "What of the gurgling, choking sound heard 
 in one of the rooms as if somebody was being 
 strangled ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, that occurred only after a big rain, and 
 was the voice of a choked gutter instead of a 
 strangled man." 
 
 ' ' But there is still one more thing you have not 
 cleared up," remarks the reader. "You said that 
 one of the ghosts in the house came in, sat in a 
 chair and gazed at Maria." 
 
 "Well, it did; Cousin Amy said so, and she is 
 perfectly truthful. She said, as she lay on the 
 lounge shading her eyes from the light and think- 
 ing of the occurrences of the night, that she saw
 
 , A Strange Homestead 153 
 
 him enter the door without opening it, and sit 
 down in a chair by the fireplace and look at Maria 
 as she nodded her head in sleep. She said he 
 never uttered a word, but, to her fancy, he seemed 
 amused. She does not know but that he laughed. 
 After a while he got up and went out of the room. 
 
 ''And you say that he did not open the door 
 either time!" 
 
 "He certainly did not." 
 
 "Did he go through the door!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, what did he do, then!" 
 
 "He went under the door." 
 
 "Ah, now I see it! It was a rat!" 
 
 "That's just what it was." 
 
 "But you said it was a ghost!" 
 
 "I said it was one of the ghosts of the house. 
 Look back and see if I did not say so, and if I 
 did not tell the truth. The rats turned out to be 
 the only ghosts the house possessed." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw," says the reader. 
 
 "Well, that is just what I said when Cousin 
 Amv told me."
 
 JUDGE DALRYMPLE 
 
 155
 
 Judge Dalrymple 
 I 
 
 THE JUDGE HIMSELF 
 
 Mr. John Dalrymple, during the period called 
 the ** fifties," was a man of large wealth; but in 
 the "sixties," through the emancipation of the 
 slave and the low value of land, he passed into the 
 financial condition known as comfortable circum- 
 stances, a monetary state less than the first, but 
 a grade higher than that of moderate means. This 
 was what a "Demonstration of Blue" from the 
 Northern States did for him. 
 
 At the time he is first considered in these pages, 
 there were mutterings of the coming tempest, but 
 the storm had not broken forth yet with flashes 
 of gunpowder and rain drops of minnie balls. So 
 that the subject of this sketch was the owner of a 
 large cotton plantation on the Mississippi Eiver, 
 another on the Yazoo, and dwelt peacefully with 
 his family in a small inland town in a typical 
 Southern home. 
 
 The house was most pleasant inside, with its 
 lofty rooms, and broad halls; and quite command- 
 ing on the outside, as it stood with its large pil- 
 lared porch on the summit of a grass covered 
 
 157
 
 158 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 knoll or swell of ground looking through a grove 
 of forest trees. Several of these monarchs, as if 
 favorites, and on intimate terms with the family, 
 had drawn near the building, thrown their arms 
 protectingly over it, and lightly placed their 
 finger-like branches with approving and affec- 
 tionate touch upon the roof. 
 
 The dwelling stood partly surrounded by a great 
 shrubbery yard, back of which was an equally 
 large kitchen garden, where pink and purple 
 morning glorys climbed posts and trellises, and 
 broadly smiling sun flowers peeped over the 
 fence at their artistocratic neighbors, the peonies, 
 carnations, geraniums and cloth of gold roses. 
 
 The hero of this story was not only a gentle- 
 man, bom and bred, but quite an intellectual 
 man, a scholar, and regular bookworm. He had 
 graduated at college a first honor man, and with 
 the most brilliant promise. There was no field 
 he might have chosen, but those who knew him 
 best felt ready to prophesy that there his gifted 
 mind would assuredly have lifted him up into 
 prominence and pre-eminence. The general im- 
 pression of his friends at the time of his gradua- 
 tion was, that such were his mental powers and 
 linguistic gifts, that law or politics would and 
 should be his realm. That he did not enter upon 
 one or the other was a disappointment to many.
 
 Judge Dairy mple 159 
 
 However, his library at home, consisting of 
 several thousand books on every subject, attested 
 to his literary taste, while lawyers, preachers, 
 members of the Legislature, and Congressmen who 
 had locked horns with him and been worsted in 
 controversies carried on in his own hospitable 
 home, could bear tnithful witness to the fact of 
 his being not only a fluent talker, but a debater of 
 the first order. Forensic speech was the man's de- 
 light, and when he had before him a foeman 
 worthy of his steel, and minds grappled, and 
 thought flashed, his naturally pale and melan- 
 choly face would become illumined and his black 
 eyes fairly blaze with internal fires. 
 
 One curious thing about this Southern gentle- 
 man was that he sometimes really did not care 
 which side of a question he would take in an ar- 
 gument. He frequently ranged himself on the 
 weak and unpopular wing for the pleasure of de- 
 feating his antagonist. And as an indication of 
 the fullness of his mental resources, he was 
 known after obtaining victoiy for one view of a 
 question, to whip around to the defeated and 
 chagrined column and restore triumph to the van- 
 quished. 
 
 No one who knew the man but felt he could 
 have swept into the first place in the Halls of 
 Legislature and Chambers of Law. But to public
 
 160 Judge Dairy m pie 
 
 life, he entertained a peculiar repugnance, and as 
 his own ample fortune delivered him from the 
 necessity of making his living in that or any other 
 way, he sequestered himself in a small town, al- 
 most lived in his Study, and digged and delved in 
 every branch of learning. 
 
 The title. Judge, which ornamented his name, 
 was given him, not because he was ever elected 
 or appointed to such an office, but was conferred 
 through the generous spirit of the Southerners, 
 who, prior to the Civil War, General ed, Coloneled, 
 Majored, Captained, Judged and Esquired every- 
 body who at all impressed them, and captured 
 their favor and fancy. 
 
 John Dalrymple, with his street, front gallery, 
 and fireside disputations, looked to the people like 
 he was a judge; and so they made him one, by 
 title, though he never donned the robe of ermine. 
 Once given, no mortal power could reclaim it. He 
 was "judged" not in the scriptural, but the com- 
 plimentary sense, all the days of his life. 
 
 But it is mainly in reference to a vein of dry 
 and yet rich humor which threaded the nature 
 and colored the life of Judge Dalrymple that these 
 pages are written. 
 
 Possessed of a keen sense of the ridiculous, and 
 endowed with genuine wit, this Southern char- 
 acter had a way of saying things, and the power
 
 Judge Dairy mple 161 
 
 of flinging inward fancies and creations upon the 
 outside canvass in such forms, as not only to 
 amuse and please the beholder, but make the oc- 
 currence itself an imperishable memory. 
 
 Sometimes, the shaft Mr. Dalrymple shot 
 would be so quietly and deftly winged that the 
 human target did not at first know of the aim 
 or feel the stroke, but the amused chuckle of the 
 Judge showed that the arrow had hit the mark, 
 was sticking in what is called the bull's eye, and 
 was beheld by the optics of others as well. 
 
 Our humorist never allowed his pleasantrj'^ to 
 last long. A half hour would almost always cover 
 its display. Certain friends of his, from observ- 
 ing this, came to the conclusion that he indulged 
 the lighter mood as some people take a pinch of 
 snuff, or as still others treat themselves to an 
 "outing," or a day's excursion— all for mental 
 relief and refreshment. 
 
 Generally the manifestation would take place 
 after a hard day's writing or reading, or a long 
 debate with worthy opponents in the drawing 
 room at home, or in some law office down town. 
 He doubtless felt the need of relaxation and diver- 
 sion, or there was a natural movement of the mind 
 itself toward a change, a kind of intellectual re- 
 bound; so that the Judge allowed, and at times 
 encouraged the sportive kittens and frolicsome
 
 162 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 colts of the brain to gambol at will. He smilingly 
 admitted that he needed the enjoyment as an off- 
 set to his studious habits and literarj^ work. But 
 many believed that a deeper and truer reason 
 was, that it was in the man; that he relished the 
 mood and practice; that when he left hard Facts 
 and sober-faced AVisdom at home and took Fancy, 
 AVit, Humor and Badinage out for a picnic, he, 
 himself, seemed to thoroughly enjoy the holiday. 
 The Judge's humor had various ways of ex- 
 pression and manifestation. One of his practices 
 was the altering of the names of his sei^ants. 
 Some of the titles were taken from history, oth- 
 ers from life, and still others wrought out new in 
 the factory of his fertile head. The two sons of 
 his carriage driver that had been christened 
 Ralph and Eeuben, and were very solemn-looking 
 boys, he dubbed Plato and Socrates. Two sisters 
 were sobriqueted Timbuctoo and Patagonia. 
 When the wife of the family coachman presented 
 her husband first with a child as black as ebony, 
 and a year later with another who was a bright mu- 
 latto. Judge Dalrjanple called them Orthodoxy 
 and Heresy. Boy twins born in one of his negro 
 cabins were verbally branded Peter and Repeater. 
 A similar binary appearance of girls in still an- 
 other humble negro home was signalized by the 
 Judge with the remarkable names Did-you-Ever
 
 Judge Dairy in pie 163 
 
 and No-I-Never. He refused to change these ap- 
 pellations, though others abbreviated the titles 
 to Ever and Never. 
 
 Just before the Civil War, the great modeni 
 lights had their reflection in the yard, and most 
 distinguished names were heard addressed to 
 small and insignificant looking specimens of black 
 humanity. The sight of a fight between two 
 youngsters back of a cabin, as they mauled and 
 hauled each other around, brought upon them like 
 a Hash, the names of Jefferson Davis and Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, which in the condensed form of Jeff 
 and Abe, clung to them ever aftei^ards. Zepha- 
 niah, the carriage driver for the family, and the 
 volunteer preacher for his own people, had the 
 aliases given him of Zoroaster and "the Bishop." 
 
 It would have puzzled many to have kept up 
 with all the varied nomenclature which Judge 
 Dalrymple rained on everything and everybody 
 in sight. He, through all, seemed to be in his 
 element, and had no difficulty in recalling the 
 names, dates and circumstances of the different 
 cases, while eveiy new title he gave that fitted 
 well, was like a little sunlit billow of pleasure 
 rolling over him. 
 
 To visitors of the Dalnmiple household, and 
 there were many, it was startling, as well as pecu- 
 liarly refreshing, to hear the sudden summons of
 
 164 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 Daniel Webster from the yard to tell Henry Clay 
 to draw a bucket of fresh water and put it on the 
 shelf; or, Susannah Wesley commanded to get 
 Jezebel and bring a basket of peaches from the 
 orchard to the house. 
 
 A second manifestation of Judge Dalrymple 's 
 pleasantry appeared in the fresh and happy way 
 in w^hich he coined words and phrases to describe 
 occurrences, or a character before him. These 
 new terms always came forth with a touch of 
 humor upon them, and with such a sense of ap- 
 propriateness, that the word from that hour be- 
 came a fixture, and could not be dislodged from 
 the family vocabulary. 
 
 The Judge's new term for the application of 
 a switch to a child was ^'Tidrei." Just why and 
 how this expression was born back of those 
 thoughtful dark eyes, and faintly smiling mouth, 
 no one could tell, but the word from the moment 
 of its birth completely banished from the home 
 all such commonplace terms as whipping, spank- 
 ing, and chastising. It became the standard and 
 a standing phrase. The child was gravely asked 
 if he wanted some "Tidrei." At first before 
 knowledge of good and evil had entered into his 
 physical garden, the little one, thinking it was 
 some kind of tea or nice drink, said, very eagerly, 
 "yes, he wanted some." But after the first ap-
 
 Judge Dairy mple 165 
 
 plication and infliction, it was most amazing to 
 observe the violent shaking of the curly head, 
 when the old question was put, ''Would you like 
 some Tidrei?" It was remarkable how the prom- 
 ise of this strange, foreign-sounding dish quieted 
 a fretting youngster. The very inquiiy would 
 seem to plunge him in the deepest thought, not 
 to say melancholy. He was doubtless recalling 
 the taste of the dish which had been last sensed 
 up to him. 
 
 Another word, coined by the Judge, was "Brig- 
 getty." He first applied it to a young lady who 
 had been on the matrimonial market for some 
 years. Her evident desire to please the other sex, 
 her bird-like hoppings about the room, her lan- 
 guishing glances, side-tilting movements of the 
 head, constant opening and shutting of her fan 
 with a fluttering sound, her twisting and turning 
 about on chair and sofa, with numerous other 
 phenomena, brought forth from the thoughtful, 
 but wide awake, observant man, the words, "she 
 is briggetty." 
 
 Asked for the translation of the word *' brig- 
 getty," he looked up with a merry sparkle in his 
 eye and answered, "the definition is, wants to get 
 married. ' ' The next moment he took up a treatise 
 on Ancient Egypt, and seemed absorbed in its 
 pages.
 
 166 Judge Dairy m pie 
 
 From that moment the word was admitted into 
 the vernacular of the family. In addition, how- 
 ever, to this, it worked its way through the vari- 
 ous outlying circles of near relatives, distant 
 kindred, friends and acquaintances, and finally 
 established itself in the dialect of the community. 
 Woe after that to any young marriageable wo- 
 man with restless ways and nervous movements of 
 the body. She was at once branded "briggetty"! 
 The whole town saw it and said it, and the Dal- 
 rympian sentence clung to the unfortunate female 
 until the grave claimed her form, or her name was 
 changed by means of a circuit clerk and a clergy- 
 man to the patronymic of another. 
 
 II 
 THE GARDENEPv 
 
 In addition to his indebtedness to the house- 
 hold and plantation servants for occasions and 
 causes of amusement. Judge Dalrymple obtained 
 not infrequent mental diversion and refreshment 
 from conversations held with his gardener, Mich- 
 ael 'Flaherty. 
 
 The latter was a native of the Emerald Isle, 
 and fifteen years before had emigrated to this 
 countrv to better his fortunes, or more trulv 
 speaking, his misfortunes. From working on the
 
 Judge Dalrymple 167 
 
 river levees, and ditching in fields, he had taken 
 to gardening, and finally drifted to the town of 
 Bridgeton, where he performed all kinds of odd 
 jobs until he fell under the notice of Judge Dal- 
 lymple, and presented himself a candidate for the 
 position of keeper and tiller of his flower yard 
 and kitchen garden. 
 
 AVhen Michael first stood before the Judge, the 
 success of his application was assured if from 
 nothing more than his personal appearance. 
 
 The ends of his red shaggy eyebrows had a 
 comical twist upward, creating the impression 
 that he was about to laugh, had it not been for the 
 downward droop of the corners of his mouth, 
 which indicated as clearly a disposition to cry. 
 The nose, however, sided with the eyebrows in the 
 tie vote of the countenance, and by its unmistaka- 
 ble '* turnup," secured the majority in the facial 
 decision for comicality. This victor>^ by the nos- 
 tril was won not alone by its sudden skyward lift 
 at the end, but by its color, which, from long 
 proximity to a stubby black pipe, had assumed 
 the tint of fine burnt old china, or richly glazed 
 porcelain. 
 
 Judge Dalrymple saw with a glance at Michael 
 that he would be to him the equivalent of out- 
 ings, excursions, and even mountain and seaside 
 resorts. He inwardly agreed, as Michael, with
 
 168 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 a shrill, squeak}^ voice had urged his own claims, 
 "that twinty dollars a month, with beer, bed, and 
 board found, would be chape enough." 
 
 ''It certainly will," replied Judge Dalrymple, 
 thinking of a very different thing from Michael. 
 ''You can consider yourself engaged." 
 
 And so the son of Erin was installed as head 
 over the flower and kitchen garden, taking his 
 meals at the second table and sleeping in an office 
 in the back yard. 
 
 While Judge Dalrymple was concluding ar- 
 rangements with his prospective gardener, 
 Michael 's eyes had taken in the sight of the thou- 
 sands of volumes lining three sides of the Judge's 
 study. Recalling, at the same time, what he had 
 heard around town about this same gentleman's 
 learning, he conceived the silly notion that he 
 would rise higher in the confidence and good 
 gi'aces of his employer if he would lay claim him- 
 self to considerable literary attainments. 
 
 With this brilliant idea in his mind, and which 
 he regarded as a happy inspiration, and for 
 which he paid dearly in mental torture there- 
 after through the humorous turn of Judge Dal- 
 rjTnple, Michael in a single hour, if not moment, 
 became a deeply read man, and made for his 
 pedestal that which turned out to be a pillory. 
 
 In coming into the garden that very afternoon
 
 Judge Dalrymple 169 
 
 to give his employee some general directions, 
 Judge Dalrymple casually dropped a remark 
 about a certain book on horticultural and land- 
 scape gardening, a real scientific volume, when 
 to his surprise, Michael declared he had read it. 
 
 A few adroit questions from the Judge brought 
 out the literai-y humbug before him, and caused 
 the laying of his plans at once. Without a sign be- 
 ing exhibited that he suspected the genuineness of 
 Michael's claim to a wide and diversified read- 
 ing. Judge Dalrymple proceeded to put questions 
 and drop remarks in a manner calculated to puz- 
 zle a stronger head than that of his gardener. 
 But, behold, Mr. 'Flaherty had read all the 
 books that were mentioned; some while crossing 
 the ocean, others in a mysterious kind of Public 
 Library, and still others from an equally indis- 
 tinct individual called Jamie McFadden, who kept 
 a book stall somewhere and had loaned or sold 
 him the volumes. 
 
 If pressed to declare a part of the contents of 
 the book under discussion, he really ^'disremim- 
 bered" the exact language just now, "but it was a 
 moity fine book, to be shure." His excuse for such 
 a wide range of forgetfulness as was soon mani- 
 fested on his i)art, would be accounted for at an- 
 other time by "biliousness in the spring." In 
 the summer his memory was not reliable. The
 
 170 Judge Dalrymyle 
 
 autumn months brought a dizziness to his head, 
 and in the winter, dates and names, as well as gen- 
 eral facts, seemed to leave him. 
 
 Driven soon to other points of attack, the Judge 
 began to invent the most remarkable titles that 
 were ever heard or not heard of, seen or not seen 
 on the side or back of a book ; but Michael 'Fla- 
 herty was never taken aback; astonishing as was 
 the name, and amazing the subject treated, he 
 had seen or read portions of that very volume, 
 **and, faith, it was an illegant book." 
 
 On discovering the length and breadth of this 
 peculiar weakness, Mr. Dalrymple did anything 
 but grieve. Sauntering into one or the other of 
 the gardens, where Michael would be using the 
 spade, hoe, or great shears, as he was working 
 amid vegetables, flowers or the hedges, the Judge 
 would begin a conversation, wherein all manner 
 of verbal traps and pitfalls would be laid, and 
 into which the gardener would most incontinent- 
 ly fall every time, and yet never seem to realize 
 the full extent of the catastrophe. 
 
 "Good morning to you, Mr. 'Flaherty; the top 
 of the morning to you." 
 
 Michael would take his foot from the spade and, 
 resting his arm upon the handle, would reply in 
 his rich brogue, and with those peculiar rising 
 inflections heard so often in Irish speech;
 
 Judge Dairy mple 171 
 
 ''The same to you, Meester Dalrymple, and all 
 the mimbers of your family." 
 
 Then the employer would gradually introduce 
 various topics of a literary character and speak 
 of volumes with most remarkable titles which he 
 had himself invented. But simple or complex, 
 it was all the same to this accommodating son of 
 Erin, who, it seems, had perused everything from 
 an Egyptian Scroll dug out of the sands, to the 
 latest publication found on the shelf of an Ameri- 
 can bookstand. One morning the question was: 
 
 ''Mr. O'Flahertv, did vou ever read 'Oriental 
 Concoctions'?" 
 
 "Yis, yer Honor, and it was there that I got 
 that blissed resait for me rheumatism." 
 
 "Still," continued Judge Dalrymple, musing- 
 ly, "it was not equal in merit from a strictly lit- 
 erary point of view to the second volume which 
 came out five years later called 'Syracusan Dep- 
 redations.' I suppose, of course, you read that, 
 also?" 
 
 "Eade it! Shure, and I jist poured over it! I 
 ups and gives siventy cents for a sicond-handed 
 copy to Jamie McFadden, what kapes the old 
 book stall in New York." 
 
 "Do you remember," queried the Judge, in a 
 thoughtful, all but dreamy voice, "how Lord
 
 172 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 Cornwall is grieved over killing the only son of 
 Charlemagne at the battle of Salgamundi ? " 
 
 "Eemimber it! Didn't I tell Jamie McFadden 
 it was the foinest thing in the book." All this 
 with evident uneasiness. 
 
 "Still," pursued the Judge, with his reflective 
 voice, "I have been compelled to think that the 
 last work of Mr. Periwinkle, the author, is the 
 best of the three. Doubtless you remember the 
 name; it escapes me just now." 
 
 "Shure, and no name is any better remimbered, 
 
 but in the Spring of the year. I gets a little bilious 
 )> 
 
 • 
 
 "Was it not Hypotechnic Concatenations?" 
 broke in Judge Dalrymple. 
 
 "Thrue as ye spoke the word, that was the 
 name," replied Michael, while his eyes assumed 
 a wild look, and he wiped off the heavy drops of 
 moisture from his forehead. His mental labor 
 was evidently proving more exhausting than his 
 manual toil. 
 
 "Do you recall in it," continued the inexorable 
 Judge, "the touching farewell of Napoleon Bona- 
 parte to his youngest daughter on her marriage 
 with the Prince of Abyssinia?" 
 
 "Now, didn't I shid tears over it, and rade it 
 to Jamie McFadden, and the spalpeen couldn't 
 slape that night for thinking about it!" All this
 
 Judge Dairy m pie 173 
 
 was said by Michael, with an attempted air of 
 melancholy, while he was anxiously wishing the 
 ''Concatenations," with all the other "Oriental 
 Concoctions" had gone up in the ''Syracusan 
 Depredations," no matter whether those "depre- 
 dations" were pigs in a pratie field or raids of 
 the police on a disreputable row of tenement 
 houses in the darkest part of a great city. 
 
 At junctures like these, the Judge, seeing that 
 the mental wagon of his gardener was already 
 overloaded and could carry no more for that day, 
 would withdraw, leaving Mr. 'Flaherty with one 
 foot on his spade, wiping his face, shaking his 
 head vigorously, and breathing as if he had been 
 running a race. 
 
 As for the Judge, he would retire to his Study, 
 or to one of the quiet nooks in which his shrub- 
 bery yard abounded, and there, sitting down on 
 a rustic settee, would, with shaking shoulders, 
 give way to a perfect fit of noiseless laughter, 
 while wiping his eyes and crying out, "Ah-me! 
 Ah-me"! He had attended a picnic, enjoyed an 
 outing, taken a trip, so to speak, to distant lands 
 and secured a brain rest and yet had not left 
 home. 
 
 Ten minutes afterward, the grave, thoughtful 
 face would be bent over manuscript, which ap- 
 peared afterward in the literary world in the
 
 174 Judge Dairy m pie 
 
 form of a volume on Mathematics, a second on 
 Astronomy, and a third on Theology, all three of 
 which were pronounced by able critics, on both 
 sides of the water, as books evidencing beyond 
 question that a master mind was their author. 
 
 Ill 
 
 THE COACHMAN 
 
 Among the negro servants who idled around 
 the house and yard of Judge Dalrymple, nodded in 
 the sunshine, went through the motions of doing 
 something, and yet never did much of anything, 
 was Zephaniah, the driver of the family carriage. 
 His special work was to groom the two steeds 
 which drew the equipage, and to drive Mrs. Dal- 
 rymple therein about once a week to Bloomville, 
 the county seat, some ten miles away, on a shop- 
 ping expedition. 
 
 The vehicle was quite a stately affair, and 
 boasted three springs, two of which were placed 
 transversely on the back axletree, thus allowing, 
 if not causing a rocking and rolling movement 
 when in progress that gave to it a flavor of the 
 sea. The driver's seat was almost on a level with 
 the top of the vehicle, so that when the carriage 
 movement was in its greatest oscillations through
 
 Judge Dalrymple 175 
 
 ruts in the road, the coachman had to respond 
 with his body in opposite bendings in order to 
 keep his seat at all; so that in addition to sug- 
 gested figures of billow and ship, the imaginative 
 mind could easily see the sailor on the stormy 
 deck, trying to bring the vessel home. 
 
 The two horses, called Gath and Goliah, by Mr. 
 Dalrymple, were mates in size, but not in color; 
 one being a glossy bay, and the other a dappled 
 gray. Both were large and quite lazy from lack 
 of work, and overfeeding. They had a way of 
 arching their necks and champing on the bit un- 
 til the froth dripped from their mouths. They, 
 also, were given to trotting sideways. They could 
 not be said to lack motion when hitched up and 
 driven, but it was more of a vertical than a hori- 
 zontal procedure. In the words of stable men, 
 ''they could trot all day long in the shade of one 
 tree." 
 
 It was a spectacle well worth beholding to see 
 Zephaniah arrayed in a tall beaver hat which 
 somebody had given him, and buttoned up to the 
 chin in a long tail black coat discarded by Mr. 
 Dalrymple, sitting solemnly on his lofty perch, 
 and driving Mrs, Dalrymple into Bloomville, with 
 the dignity that a royal charioteer would escort 
 a queen into London. 
 
 Mrs. Dalrymple, all powdered, ringletted and
 
 176 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 brocaded, sat exactly in the center of the back 
 seat, and gazed in a kind of reverie out of the car- 
 riage window at the slowly passing scenery, while 
 Gatli and Goliah flung the foam from their bits, 
 tossed their heads, made a curious jugging sound 
 in their stomachs, and trotted sideways down the 
 road until out of sight of the town. 
 
 Zephaniah, on such trips, wore his stovepipe 
 tilted back at an angle of forty-five degrees, held 
 his whip poised over the horses, kept his eyes 
 fixed immovably upon them, and looked exceed- 
 ingly dignified. He, without question, greatly 
 appreciated the position he held, and, though he 
 gave no sign to that effect, yet was perfectly cog- 
 nizant of, and enjoyed as well, the admiring and 
 wondering glances which were cast upon him by 
 his own family and fellow serA^ants, as he drove 
 down the public road with his mistress or swept 
 back in the afternoon or evening with the seats 
 loaded with paper bundles and packages pur- 
 chased by that lady in the County Emporium. 
 
 The steeds, Gath and Goliah, were made the me- 
 dium by Judge Dalrj^mple of obtaining no little 
 amusement at the expense of Zephaniah. For, be 
 it understood, that with all his dignity, the car- 
 riage driver was not famous for intellectual bril- 
 liancy or profundity. Perhaps, in this respect, he 
 may not altogether be alone. In fact, history and
 
 Judge Dalrymple 177 
 
 life are full of hints that Dignity can exist, and 
 even flourish, without brains or merit. "Sirs," 
 says the triumphant psychological explorer and 
 investigator, "I find it can exist without any- 
 thing!" 
 
 Anyhow, to come back to Zeph, he was not par- 
 ticularly bright, and was easily mentally confused. 
 In recognition of this, Mr. Dalrj^mple was accus- 
 tomed to give an order to his coachman which, 
 while causing amusement to the master, invariably 
 brought peri^lexity to the mind and a woe-begone 
 countenance to the servant. The command at first 
 appeared simple enough, but it had a way of be- 
 coming a mystery and developing into a profound 
 puzzle in the course of a very few minutes. The 
 order was: 
 
 ''Zoroaster, I want j'ou to turn out the Bay to- 
 day, and saddle the Gray." 
 
 Zeph would say, "All right, Mars John," and 
 go towards the stable repeating the words so as 
 to make no mistake. "Turn out the Bay and sad- 
 dle the Gray; turn out the Bay and saddle the 
 Gray ; turn out the Gray and saddle the Bay ; turn 
 out the Bay and saddle the Graj^; turn out the 
 Gray and saddle the Bay," and by the time he had 
 gone one hundred yards he was hopelessly in the 
 dark as to what was to be done. 
 
 Of course, he had to return to Mr. Dalrj^mple,
 
 178 Judge Dairy ?n pie 
 
 wlio would look up with a bland smile from his 
 book or writing at the mystified countenance of 
 the servant as he said: 
 
 "Mars John, I done clean forgot wliut boss I 
 mus' saddle, en which un I mus' tu'n out. Am it 
 Gath or Goliah ! " 
 
 "Didn't I tell you," said the Judge, with twink- 
 ling eyes, "to saddle the Bay and turn out the 
 Gray?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, sah, you sho 'ly did, ' ' answered Zeph, ex- 
 panding into a broad grin, "but some how er 
 nuther. Mars John, dem bosses gits mixed fob I 
 kin reach de lot." 
 
 "The way to manage it," replied his master, "is 
 to keep repeating my order until you come to the 
 stable." 
 
 "Dat's de vah'y thing I done did, sah, en dars 
 whar I got all mussed up, en puts de saddle on de 
 wrongst boss." 
 
 "The only thing to do," said Mr. Dalrymple, 
 with assumed gravity, "is to try again. I believe, 
 however, I will change my mind about the horse 
 and use the Gray instead of the Bay. So please 
 turn out the Bay and saddle the Gray." 
 
 Zephaniah at once started off with the facial 
 expression of a mathematician having a great 
 problem on his mind. Mr. Dalrymple could see 
 his mouth working as he walked away, and knew
 
 Judge Dalrymple 179 
 
 he was whispering "turn out the Bay and sad- 
 dle the Gray," thus trying to keep the order fixed 
 and corect in his mind until he could lay his hands 
 upon the horses themselves. By and by, he 
 saw Zeph stop, look down on the ground, scratch 
 his head, go on again, look up in the air, turn 
 around, make several circles, start back for the 
 house, stop again, wheel toward the stable, drag 
 his feet heavily after him, and, reaching the lot 
 gate, lean his head in evident despair upon one of 
 the posts. 
 
 Upon seeing this, the Judge sank back in a chair 
 and shook with silent laughter until it looked as 
 if his shoulders would be dislocated. 
 
 It rarely happened that Zeph brought the right 
 horse to the hitching rack or mounting block, but 
 it really did not matter, as Mr. Dalrymple 's rides 
 were verv short ones, and both animals were fairlv 
 perishing from lack of exercise, much less work. 
 When, therefore, as it most frequently occurred, 
 the wrong steed would appear, the Judge would 
 say nothing, and Zeph, thinking he had remem- 
 bered rightly, would take the first easy breath he 
 had drawn in the last half hour. 
 
 Zephaniah, alias Zoroaster, as Mr. Dalrymple 
 would occasionally call him, was, as has been 
 said, also an exhorter or preacher in his church. 
 Sunday afternoon and night he exercised his gifts
 
 180 Judge Dairy m pie 
 
 on a little sable flock in town, and sometimes 
 preached on the Dalrymple plantation a few miles 
 away. What he lacked in intellect he made up in 
 lung power, and where he failed in expounding, he 
 certainly succeeded in pounding. Possessed of a 
 rich, full voice, with a tremulous movement to it 
 that he could summon up at will, and which pecu- 
 liarly affected his hearers, Zeph's fame had gone 
 forth over a number of plantations, penetrated the 
 Black Jack neighborhood, and even reached Piney 
 Creek, some eight or ten miles north of the Bridge- 
 ton and Bloomville road. 
 
 Having only a couple of fat, lazy horses to feed 
 and curry, a carriage to wash and drive, Zepli had 
 abundance of leisure time on hand wherein to pre- 
 pare his sermons for the next Sabbath. This may 
 have accounted in part for a great way he had of 
 talking to himself in the bam and lot. In addi- 
 tion to the enjoyment of listening to himself, he 
 loved to hear others, but mainly for the reason 
 that it furnished an excuse for him to stop work. 
 Zeph's crowning joy was to hold forth to 
 others on monologue lines, his favorite subjects 
 being ' ' Moh 'als en 'Ligion. ' ' He had other topics, 
 but these seemed to lie nearest to his heart. 
 
 It is to be regretted, however, that all of Zeph's 
 auditors did not have confidence in him. The fact 
 was to be chronicled that on certain occasions, the
 
 Judge Dairy mple 181 
 
 carriage driver and exhorter would come into pos- 
 session of a peculiarly fragrant breath, attended 
 with difficulties in holding up the head and walk- 
 ing straight. And while it is true that at those 
 times Zeph would talk more about religion than 
 ever, yet the faith of quite a number were shaken 
 in him. Still, he had his following, and Mr. Dal- 
 rymple pardoned and forgot these wanderings of 
 his serv^ant because of their great rareness, and 
 on account of the numerous remaining excellences 
 of the slave. 
 
 It was one of Judge Dalrymple's keenest pleas- 
 ures and recreations, as well, to inveigle Zephan- 
 iah into an argument, theological, ecclesiastical, 
 religious or otherwise in character, and leave his 
 serv^ant, not knowing, figuratively speaking, 
 whether he was on his head or heels. 
 
 Zephaniah was wordy, without being brainy, 
 and his efforts to escape Mr. Dalrj^mple's verbal 
 traps, pitfalls and sentence entanglements; his ad- 
 vances and retreats; his absurd answers, and 
 oftentimes his overwhelmed mental state, while 
 his master talked on with a most imposing array 
 of jaw-breaking and remarkable sentences, af- 
 forded a psychological phenomenon not set down 
 in books and rarely to be beheld in life. 
 
 One afternoon Zeph was leaning against the 
 stable gate and commuuing with Polydore, a lame
 
 182 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 darkey who slopped the cows, fed the pigs and at- 
 tended to the woodpile. He was having the double 
 pleasure of hearing himself talk and of being 
 heard by another. With his arms resting on a 
 transverse bar, and his eyes fixed on the ''Big 
 House" that he might not be suriirised in his 
 neglect of the day's labor, Zeph enlarged on the 
 mysteries of toothache. 
 
 "Doan tell me nuffin 'tall 'bout no toof. Doan 
 tell me 'er man's toof ain' got no sense. I tells 
 you I knows better. Kaze whut mek dat toof er 
 mine 'halve lak hit did? AV'en de miziy was 
 moh'n I could stan', en I sot down in dat chur fur 
 dat doctor ter pull hit out; w'en dat toof seed dat 
 par er tongs dat man 'gin ter poke in my mouf, I 
 tell you de Gospill truf, dat toof done stop achin' 
 right den an dar! I riz up en tole dat Doctor, dat 
 I was mistook, dat de toof was all right, but de 
 mizrv was in mv haid. An', Suh! he sholy lak ter 
 cuss me outen de office." 
 
 "Now den," continued Zeph, crossing one fin- 
 ger with another, as he had seen Judge Dalrymple 
 do in an argument, and gazing at Polydore with 
 a wise and solemn look, "w'at you reckon dat toof 
 do arter dat? I doan moh'n git two mile fum 
 town, en cross de ferr\% en ain* got no money ter 
 git back ter dat doctor, w'en dat toof riz right up 
 en gwiiae to achin' agin. No Suh I You cain tell
 
 Judge Dalrymple 183 
 
 me nuffiu' tall 'bout no toof. Dey's got sense I tell 
 you, nigger." 
 
 At this moment Zepli and Polydore saw Judge 
 Dalrymple approaching down the path from the 
 house, whereupon they immediately separated, 
 Polydore to the wood yard, while Zeph, retiring 
 into the stable, began diligently raking straw in 
 the stalls of Gath and Goliah, and singing with his 
 tremulous attachment, an old Methodist hymn full 
 of minor notes. When Mr. Dalrymple reached the 
 lot gate and called him, of course Zeph was much 
 surprised, and answered from within the stable: 
 
 "Who dat callen me!" 
 
 It is needless to say that Zeph was as fully 
 aware that it was his master speaking as that it 
 was himself answering. At the repetition of the 
 call, the carriage driver broke out in a guffaw of 
 sudden recognition and said: 
 
 "Well, I 'clare ter grashus, hit's Mars John er 
 callin' me. Whut yer want, Mars John?" 
 
 None of this little by-play or acting was lost on 
 the Judge, but he was not a severe master, and 
 so, with some inward smiling, he replied: 
 
 "I want you, Bishop. Come here." 
 
 The fact was that ]\[r. Dalrymple had been 
 studying hard all day, and left his library late 
 this afternoon in search of a mental outing. He 
 had hesitated at the fork of the paths leading to
 
 184 Judge Dalryrnple 
 
 the garden and stable, and oscillated in mind for a 
 while between Mr. O 'Flaherty and Zephaniah. 
 But this time he concluded to patronize the coach- 
 man. 
 
 Zepli hated work, and enjoyed all conversa- 
 tions, but especially those which allowed a great 
 deal of sitting. He always hailed with pleasure, 
 communing seasons with his Master for the double 
 reason that all manual labor ceased with him, and 
 while Mr. Dalrj^mple soon had him completely 
 mentally confused and bewildered, yet he would 
 secure a fresh supply of high sounding words and 
 phrases, which he carefully preserved, and would 
 bring forth on the following Sabbath to his sable 
 colored, nodding audiences, if not with edification 
 to them, then, at least with gratification to him- 
 self. 
 
 It was owing, perhaps, to the gathering shad- 
 ows of the evening, that the Judge selected his 
 topic from the domain of superstition on this oc- 
 casion, and so clearing his throat and resting one 
 of his long slender limbs on a bar of the gate, he 
 said: 
 
 '^Zoroaster, do you believe in ghosts!'* 
 
 Instantly a goodly portion of the whites of 
 Zeph's ej^es began to appear, and looking hastily 
 over each shoulder in the direction of the shadowy
 
 Judge Dalrymple 185 
 
 parts of the lot, he said, with most unmistakable 
 sincerity : 
 
 **Why, Mars John, whut meks you ax me dat 
 question, sah? En cose I do, sah!" 
 
 Then followed from Mr. Dalrymple 's lips, a 
 most nerve-trjdng narration from historj^ and fic- 
 tion, nothing being overlooked in the matter of 
 accent and proper dwelling upon certain features 
 of the case; while the white circles of Zeph's eyes 
 steadily enlarged, and from occasional "Humphs" 
 and "Lawd hev musseys," the Keeper of Gath 
 and Goliah was driven into an almost breathless 
 silence, with restless turnings of body and back- 
 ward glances toward the darkening stable and 
 gloomy strip of woods beyond. 
 
 When Mr. Dalrymple ceased and started to re- 
 turn to the house, Zephaniah made arrangements 
 to make as immediate a departure. Bars were left 
 down, sundry inner doors to the great bam and 
 stable remained unlocked, and Gath and Goliah 
 were decidedly slighted while Zeph rushed 
 through a few necessary duties, hurried over the 
 stile, almost raced along the path through the or- 
 chard, and around the back of the garden, until 
 he reached his lowly cabin, where the presence of 
 Cynthy Ann, his wife, and his romping youngsters 
 on the puncheon floor brought him some measure 
 of mental relief.
 
 186 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 On this niglit Zepli stayed closely at home, 
 seemed unusually religious, and sang a number 
 of hymns with great ferver and unction, one of 
 which began, 
 
 *'Why should we start and fear to die." 
 
 On still other occasions, Mr. Dalrymple would 
 eschew superstition and spiritualism, and ap- 
 proach his servant with ponderous arguments and 
 most remarkable polysyllabic utterances in the 
 controversial fields of Science, Religion, Church 
 and State, and Theology. Of course, there were 
 many sentences which the Judge did not attempt 
 to understand himself. 
 
 It was a study to watch the master and slave 
 begin and carry on one of these colloquies, in 
 which they would pass through the lot gate, walk 
 around each other, fall back toward the stable, 
 and wind up sometimes in, or else close to the 
 stalls of Gath and Goliah. 
 
 Repeatedly, as the conversation or argument 
 progressed, Mr. Daliymple would show signs of 
 apoplexy, but would recover; yet later have one 
 of his shaking fits in his arm chair in his study. 
 As for Zeph 's face, it was a study, as looks of as- 
 tonishment and bewilderment, with assumed ex- 
 pressions of wisdom and comprehension of the
 
 Judge Dalrymple 187 
 
 subject in hand followed in quick order, not to 
 say disorder, upon it. 
 
 **You see, Zoroaster," said the Judge one morn- 
 ing to Zeph as the carriage driver stood, curry 
 comb in hand, near the bam door, "The cachina- 
 tions of theological nomenclature have conspired 
 to obliterate the perturbed conditions and rela- 
 tions of sociology, political economy and civil 
 jurisprudence. This in turn has reversed all in- 
 ternational transubstantiation and established the 
 logarithm of the general parallax of the uni- 
 verse. ' ' 
 
 "Dat's de vah'y thing I say'd to Cynthy Ann 
 yistiddy," replied Zeph, rolling his eyes and 
 speaking in a low, awe-struck tone. 
 
 "What did you tell Cynthy Ann?" inquired 
 Mr. Dalrymple, with sparkling optics. 
 
 " 'Bout dat log, en dem pair o' axes youse bin 
 talkin' bout." 
 
 Mr. Dalrymple gave a sudden snort of the nos- 
 trils, but quickly placing his handkerchief over 
 his mouth, cleared his throat and proceeded. 
 
 "You know. Bishop, that the affinities of mole- 
 cular atoms, disregarding the indivisibilities of 
 the terraqueous globe, have insinuated themselves 
 into protoplastic images which have affected the 
 theological lucubrations of many of the ecclesias- 
 tical svstems of the day."
 
 188 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 *'Yes, Lawd! I jes knows dat am de blessed 
 truf," said Zeph, shifting restlessly from one leg 
 to another, while the lines of perplexity and anx- 
 iety in his face would have made a Chinese puz- 
 zle ashamed of itself. 
 
 "Now, Zoroaster," continued the Judge, cross- 
 ing his left finger with his right, and looking the 
 picture of argumentation and profound delibera- 
 tion, "the correlating platitudes of all sublunary 
 spheres lead necessarily to plenipotentiary posi- 
 tions, and, also, to the final disintegration of all 
 primordial discoveries of the human family, and 
 plunge the differentiations of the various religious 
 denominations into an indescribable vortex com- 
 pounded of arterial exhalations, scientific abstrac- 
 tions, hermeneutical deductions and the extra- 
 neous pomposities of an antiquated valetudina- 
 rianism." 
 
 As this wonderful and luminous paragraph pro- 
 ceeded, Zeph had assumed a half squatting, half 
 kneeling position on the ground, and, taking a 
 pine splinter from the fence, applied it to his teeth 
 with a most impressed and abstracted look. And 
 now, as Judge Dalrymple paused for breath for a 
 moment, and cast a questioning glance upon his 
 listener, the negro said: 
 
 "Dat's jes' whut I bin skeered erbout dis whole 
 time. You jes ax Cjmthy Ann ef it tain so."
 
 Judge Dalrymj)le 189 
 
 Mr. Dalrymple coughed violently for a moment 
 as Zepli made this reply, but recovered and re- 
 sumed. 
 
 "Now, Zephaniah, in view of all this, and in 
 case that the deglutition of one church should sur- 
 pass the intermediate constabulary of another, 
 and the transportation, not to say transmigra- 
 tion, of the first should etherealize the interlinear 
 spaces of the circumjacent diaphragm and capil- 
 laries of the second, and the remaining component 
 elements of the body politic should be projected by 
 ordinary compulsory evolution into the cosmical 
 forces of original chaos; what would you do un- 
 der such circumstances'?" 
 
 Zeph blew the splinter out of his mouth, raised 
 his head, and said most emphatically: 
 
 "Well, Mars John, I'd tun ev'y one of 'em 
 outen de chu'ch, ef de Lawd spared me." 
 
 Here the Judge had one of his curious apoplectic 
 looking attacks, and with a strangling accent, 
 cried: 
 
 "A gourd of water! Quick, Zeph, I've got a 
 grain of sand in my throat!" 
 
 And Zeph, without a grain of suspicion in his 
 mind, ran to the well in the lot and brought back 
 some water in a moment, and gazed sympathetic- 
 ally at his master, who, in attempting to swallow, 
 spluttered in the gourd, and spattered the water
 
 190 Judge Dalryinple 
 
 around in a most remarkable manner. Later on 
 the Judge was discovered with one of his shaking 
 fits upon him in a secluded snot in the flower yard. 
 
 IV 
 
 THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The Civil War broke out at last. It was far 
 enough off at first, but came dreadfully near in 
 a couple of years. Vicksburg fell, gunboats 
 ascended the Yazoo River, and Federal raids, first 
 of cavalry, then of infantry, seamed the State of 
 Mississippi. 
 
 Homes were forsaken, cotton bales by the thou- 
 sand were burned, and families refugeed with 
 their slaves to Alabama and other districts of 
 country still farther in the interior. The silver 
 ware had been pitched in wells by their owners 
 for safe keeping, or buried in remote nooks of the 
 garden or corn field. Horses and mules that had 
 not gone with the ''refugees" were rushed to the 
 swamps, only to have their hiding places betrayed 
 by those of the colored people who were glad to 
 welcome the Northern army. 
 
 Mr. Daliymple, always original, hid his hand- 
 some gold watch in an old cow horn which he 
 found on the road. Stuffing the large end with 
 moss, he dropped his common looking casket on
 
 Judge Dalryinple 191 
 
 the highway, overlooking the fact that while he 
 would not care to pick up such a thing in a walk, 
 other individuals might, could or would. So next 
 day, the bovine head appendage with its hidden 
 treasure was gone, and the Judge instantly se- 
 cured a largely increased stock of a wisdom of 
 this world which he had not found in his books 
 of geology. 
 
 His effort to conceal the family silver was equal- 
 ly brilliant. Discovering a large hollow tree in 
 a grove beyond his field, he drove a number of 
 nails along its inner sides, and swung upon them, 
 at heights varying from three feet to twenty, solid 
 silver pitchers, goblets, dishes, ladles, napkin 
 rings, and whatever else he possessed in the white 
 metal line. 
 
 A week later there was a violent stonn, when 
 Mr. Dalrymple, mindful of the frail nature of the 
 tree, went forth to the grove to investigate, when, 
 lo! while yet fifty yards away he saw his silver 
 ware flashing through the woods in the sunlight. 
 The hiding place had been evenly split, half fall- 
 ing to the earth and half remaining upright. Part 
 of the silver was on the ground, the rest was glit- 
 tering in a most attractive way upon the nails on 
 which the Judge had suspended his table treas- 
 ures. 
 
 Mr. DalryTnple, with his second discomfiture,
 
 192 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 carried the articles back, and also gave orders 
 that Gath and Goliah, who had been stabled for 
 two weeks in a cane brake, be brought home. A 
 kind of reaction had set in with him. Neverthe- 
 less, he was strengthened somewhat in this course 
 by the news that the Federal Gunboats had re- 
 turned down the Yazoo River to Vicksburg and 
 that there were no raids just now anywhere cross- 
 ing the State. 
 
 But alas for all human hope and calculations 
 in time of war. Only the next day, when the sil- 
 ver was back on the sideboard and Gath and Go- 
 liah were in their stalls, suddenly a long blue col- 
 umn appeared emerging from a cloud of dust in 
 the west. It consisted of an entire division, com- 
 manded by a Major General, with cavalry, infan- 
 try and artillery. A Confederate Texas brigade 
 fell back before it, and the Northern troops rushed 
 into the town. 
 
 Mr. Dalrymple was engaged in some deeply ab- 
 sorbing studies, when a dozen troopers galloped 
 up to the front gate. He, with his old Southern 
 courtesy, hardly observing the uniforms, bade 
 them "come in"; but this they were doing already 
 without his invitation or permission. Meantime, a 
 larger company had swept around into the back 
 yard, and shouts, cries and a noise of a most con- 
 glomerate character began to ascend from its
 
 Judge Dalrymple 193 
 
 depths, as well as lengths and breadths. There 
 were squalls of captured chickens, angry gob- 
 blings of pursued turkeys, the crashing of garden 
 pickets, the clatter of horses' hoofs, the oaths of 
 soldiers, and the loud voices of protest from faith- 
 ful family servants, mingled with the shrill, rich 
 brogue of Michael 'Flaherty. 
 
 From the distant streets of the town came re- 
 ports of pistol shots, the tramp of bodies of cav- 
 alry, the roll of wheels, crack of whips, cries of 
 every kind, and an occasional distant boom of a 
 cannon locating the continued retreat of the out- 
 numbered Southerners, as they fell back in a 
 northeasterly direction, pursued by the Federals. 
 
 Of course, the Dalrymple silver went; also the 
 contents of the dairy; and all the preserves and 
 sweetmeats in the storeroom and pantry. The 
 yard was swept of every feathered fowl as by a cy- 
 clone, while the stables were stripped in a jiffy, 
 and Gath and Goliah were soon no more. 
 
 Mr. Dalrymple had taken a few restless turns 
 up and down his side gallerj^ watching the sweep- 
 ing away of his personal property; then came 
 away and seating himself on his front porch fell 
 naturally in a melancholy reverie. From this men- 
 tal state, however, he was soon aroused by the 
 sight of two soldiers trj-ing to ride off on Gath 
 and Goliah. The spectacle was amusing enough
 
 194 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 to have brought a smile upon the face of an Egyp- 
 tian mummy. 
 
 Gfith and Goliah were not much given to going 
 forward even under the skilful management of 
 Zephaniah. But here, with the awkward jerks 
 and knee pressings of a couple of infantry men, 
 they certainly outdid themselves in side move- 
 ments, caracoling and throwing themselves in ev- 
 ery form of equestrian position. All the bit- 
 champing, head-tossing, side trotting, and lofty 
 rearing of the past were as nothing to the per- 
 formances which they now rendered as a free ex- 
 hibition to the terror stricken riders, and mirth 
 convulsed beholders on the street. 
 
 The men themselves, knowing nothing of horse- 
 manship, afraid to jump off or let go, held on like 
 grim death, with knees drawn up high and clamp- 
 ing the horses like a vise, while one clutched 
 Gath's mane, and the other had his arms clasped 
 most fervently around the neck of Goliah. 
 
 Amid merry cries from fellow soldiers on the 
 street, to ''hold 'em down," to "let 'em out," to 
 "turn 'em loose" and "to fling 'em on their 
 haunches," some one got to singing: 
 
 "I bet my money 
 
 On the bob-tail nag, 
 And who dar bet 
 
 On the bay?"
 
 Judge Dairy mple 195 
 
 in the midst of which, lustily-sung and generally 
 joined-in chorus, Gath and Goliah, with their ut- 
 terly disgusted riders, waltzed, backed, circled, 
 reared, pawed the air, went sideways, and finally 
 disappeared around the corner from the sight of 
 the lamenting Zephaniah, who sat bemoaning their 
 loss at the front gate, and from the gaze of Mr. 
 Dalrymple, who, with shaking shoulders and eyes 
 streaming with mirth, had beheld the absurd 
 spectacle to its close. 
 
 Ver^^ soon after this Judge Dalrymple and Mi- 
 chael 'Flaherty had to go to ' ' the front, ' ' because 
 of a stringent draft law. The latter, being con- 
 stitutionally and every other way opposed to bul- 
 lets and bomb shells, secured the position of team- 
 ster, and thereafter saw to it that his wagon head- 
 ed the procession in a retreat, and brought up the 
 rear in an advance. Moreover, the instant he 
 ceased to work for his old employer all of his lit- 
 erary attainments left him like a landslide. After 
 that his boasting lay in the line of fast horses. It 
 is needless to say that he had ridden most of them 
 and seen them all. 
 
 Mr. Dalrymple, after being mustered in and as- 
 signed to duty in the ranks, was sent one day with 
 an important message from one general to an- 
 other. He deposited it in his pocket, and, becoming 
 very much absorbed in a work on Natural His-
 
 196 Judge Dalrymjple 
 
 tory which some one had secured from a neigh- 
 boring home, forgot all about it for a whole day. 
 This piece of absent-mindedness came near cost- 
 ing the absence of the bodies of an entire Southern 
 brigade in a Northern prison. It also convinced 
 certain parties at headquarters that the Judge 
 would never excel in courier duty. 
 
 After this he was stationed as a vidette on the 
 firing line. Becoming greatly interested in some 
 remarkably colored strata on the side of a hill, 
 he got into such an argument about '*The Geologi- 
 cal Epochs" with a bright-minded soldier com- 
 panion, that an approaching Federal column 
 planted a couple of balls in him, one in his arm 
 and the other in his leg, while his own picket post 
 saved him and his literary friend from capture 
 at the risk of their lives. 
 
 The wounds of the Judge were not fatal, but 
 they led first to a furlough, and finally to his dis- 
 charge from the army; so the rest of his days he 
 had to depend upon a crutch and walking stick 
 for successful locomotion. 
 
 The War, ending with the surrender at Appo- 
 mattox left the Dalrymples enough of their person- 
 al and real estate, as we have previously said, to 
 keep them in comfort; and so, with Zephaniah as 
 general factotum, and Cynthy Ann in the kitchen, 
 things moved along pleasantly enough, if not
 
 Judge Dalrymple 197 
 
 luxuriously. The income was slimmer than of 
 yore, and the number of household servants drop- 
 ped from ten to three, but there was still a warm 
 hospitality extended at the Dalrj^mple home, and 
 a numerous circle of friends and relatives kept the 
 large house from ever becoming lonely. 
 
 As for Zephaniah, he had remained true to his 
 Master through the Raids, the Emancipation pe- 
 riod, and the Reconstruction process. Mr, Dal- 
 rymple, often accompanied by the faithful serv- 
 ant, would take his morning and evening walk, 
 leaning partly on the arm of the negro and partly 
 on his ebony cane. But the mind of the Judge 
 was always bright and active, and needed no 
 crutch or help of any kind. The Master and freed 
 servant had many long talks together on the sub- 
 jects indicated in the third chapter, in which the 
 main speaker saw to it that for every ounce of 
 information imparted, he added a pound of mysti- 
 fication. 
 
 Meanwhile Zeph never ceased to grieve over 
 the loss of Gath and Goliah. The solitary grain 
 of comfort he seemed to secure in his bereavement 
 being that their captors never obtained any real 
 or lasting enjoyment from their booty; and, as he 
 often said after one of his lamentations, 
 
 **Dar's one thing shore, dat de way dem bosses 
 was er gwine w'en I las' seed 'em, dey nuvver got
 
 198 Judge Dairy mple 
 
 dar. Dey ain* dar yit. Whut dem Sojer men 
 knows erbout dem bosses, ennybow? Wbar dey 
 spec to Ian' wid all dare projickin' on ol' Gatb 
 an' Goliab? Naw, Sub, dey ain' dar now, an' dey 
 ain' nuvver gwine to git dar. You byerd me talk- 
 in', doan you folks?" 
 
 V 
 A FINAL VIEW 
 
 A year or two after tbe War, Micbael O'Fla- 
 berty put in a sudden and dilapidated appearance 
 at tbe back door of tbe Dalrymple mansion. His 
 condition, witbout a word being spoken, sbowed 
 be bad passed tbrougb bard experiences. Of 
 course, somebody bad treated bim very badly, and 
 be, according to bis account, was an injured in- 
 nocent, a babe in tbe wood, so to speak, and not 
 even granted tbe comfort of anotber babe to suf- 
 fer and starv^e witb bim in tbe forest of extremity. 
 
 Judge Dalrymple promptly put tbe stranded 
 man in cbarge of tbe garden, and promised bim- 
 self rieb interviews amid tbe' potatoes and cauli- 
 flowers. So, loaded down to tbe gunwale one day 
 witb questions, and some most remarkable titles, 
 be bobbled out for tbe expected talk and enjoy- 
 ment, and found to bis amazement tbat Micbael's
 
 Judge Dairy mple 199 
 
 vast literary accumulations had departed. He 
 warmly disclaimed all knowledge of any kind of 
 book lore, whatever, and would not even admit 
 that he had ever seen a Webster's blue back 
 speller. Evidently the memory of his past mental 
 sufferings was still so fresh that the bare thought 
 of entering upon them again was simply unen- 
 durable. 
 
 So when the Judge said he was confident that 
 Michael had read "The Perturbations and Stag- 
 nation of the Original Dissimulators," Mr. 'Fla- 
 herty forgot his really high regard for his em- 
 ployer, and made the air rosy and palpitate with 
 some most fen^ent statements, that he did not 
 know, and did not care to know, and wished that 
 the whole kit and crew of the "nation" Judge 
 Dalrymple was talking about might land in the 
 middle and at the bottom of the hottest world 
 ever known to Astronomy and Scripture ! 
 
 When the Judge reached one of his nooks in the 
 shrubbery, his shoulders shook longer at this last 
 sally of his gardener than over any other pre- 
 vious saying that had fallen from his lips. 
 
 Of course, the Judge continued to obtain a cer- 
 tain measure of amusement out of his hired hand, 
 but not on scholastic lines. It verily seemed that 
 years after the decease of the Know-Nothing 
 party, Michael 'Flaherty became the embodi-
 
 200 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 ment of that defunct organization. He insisted 
 continually that he knew nothing. 
 
 After a few years, Mr. Dalrymple sank into 
 the grave from the effect of his wounds. In his 
 will it was discovered that, among other bequests, 
 he had left a cabin and twenty acres of land each 
 to Zephaniah and Michael 'Flaherty. 
 
 It would be natural that the white and black 
 man, whom the Judge had befriended in life and 
 death, should entertain a peculiar interest in each 
 other. First drawn together by this single human 
 benevolent link, they felt, even in after days, the 
 connecting power, though the benefactor himself 
 was sleeping quietly beneath the sod. They liked 
 to meet because of this earthly friend, and they 
 never met without sounding his praises. 
 
 On one Sabbath, 'Flaherty went so far with 
 this kindly sentiment as to attend Zephaniah 's 
 church, and take a seat on a back bench. Zephan- 
 iah 's text was Genesis, Chapter 32 and Verse 10, 
 As he read it haltingly and stumbingly to the 
 close, a Bible student who happened to be present 
 was amazed to hear the following unfamiliar 
 words, *'I am not worth the last of all, the Mes- 
 siah." On returning to his room, the student 
 found that the exact language of the passage was, 
 "I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies." 
 
 Zeph's opening remark was:
 
 Judge Dairy mple 201 
 
 **De constabulation ob de circum'fluence ob true 
 libbing was in de statuation ob kerecter." 
 
 Michael had been listlessly looking at the rows 
 of woolly heads before him until these remarkable 
 words fell upon his ear. Like a flash his head was 
 bent foi-w^ard in the most intent listening attitude, 
 while an unmistakable panic-struck expression ap- 
 peared in his face. 
 
 Zeph, with rolling eyes and most eminently sat- 
 isfied manner over his last deliverance of wis- 
 dom, resumed his oracular utterance, and had 
 spoken thus far in the following sentence: 
 
 '*De pomulsions and conglumergations ob de 
 
 reconomy " when Michael arose, suddenly 
 
 grasped his hat and literally shot from the house. 
 
 He never explained his sudden departure, nor 
 could he be persuaded ever to hear his colored 
 friend again, though he was informed that after 
 his pompous beginnings, the preacher would de- 
 scend to plain English and deliver really good, 
 religious talks. No! Michael wanted no more of 
 it and never retunied. 
 
 Zephaniah always believed that 'Flaherty got 
 under conviction and had run to escape the ar- 
 rows of truth. But the true explanation was that 
 Michael felt that if he had not seen Judge Dal- 
 rymple's ghost, he had heard some skeletons of
 
 202 Judge Dalrymple 
 
 his words. And so, with suddenly aroused memo- 
 ries of a most painful character, and feeling al- 
 most sure that his old employer was behind the 
 pulpit, Michael had become demoralized and de- 
 parted precipitately, without apology then and 
 thereafter. 
 
 Mrs. Dalrymple erected a handsome monument 
 over her husband ; and with some mental concep- 
 tion or design of her own, she had two faces 
 chiselled on opposite sides of the tombstone, 
 which were to represent Hope and Faith : the for- 
 mer smiling in an Easterly direction, and the lat- 
 ter gazing solemnly at the AVest, As these two 
 heads, by some mistaken idea of the sculptor, 
 were made to resemble Mr. Dalrymple, the public 
 said the widow intended to show the two chang- 
 ing moods of her consort, and so there was con- 
 siderable remark, both mirthful and otherwise. 
 Fortunately she never heard these things, and in 
 time they died away. But as another generation 
 began to spring up, and new people came into the 
 country to settle, a second report was started and 
 spread, that Mrs. Dalrj^mple had erected the two- 
 headed monument in memory of two departed 
 husbands, and that this accounted for the different 
 faces, one of which looked brightly toward the 
 East, and the other sadly upon the West.
 
 Judge Dairy mple 203 
 
 This, of course, brought out more gossip about 
 the dissimilar character of the two dead hus- 
 bands, and how much happier she must have been 
 with the one who was beaming at the Orient, than 
 with the other whose face was set like a flint to- 
 ward the Occident. 
 
 Happily for all this foundationless talk, and of 
 which Mrs. Dalrj^mple, now getting old, heard 
 nothing, a gi'eat storm arose one night, blew down 
 a tree upon the monument, and ground the two 
 faces to fragments. Mrs. Dalrymple intended re- 
 building the shaft, and the next time with three 
 faces upon it, the third to be that of Resignation, 
 looking Southward, or Charity, gazing towards 
 the North. Before she had been able to decide on 
 this important matter, and ere plans had been 
 consummated with a stone cutter, she suddenly 
 sickened and died, and the idea was never car- 
 ried out. 
 
 So the body of John Dalrymple lies to-day at 
 the foot of a group of sighing pine trees, with 
 naught save the moldering foundation of the 
 broken monument to mark his last resting place. 
 But the yellow needles of the palms of the South 
 have woven a rich brown pall for the lowly mound, 
 the pine burrs drop like great tears over the slum- 
 bering body, and the whip-poor-will, on a broken
 
 204 Judge Dalrymjple 
 
 ' 
 
 neighboring fence, or in the shadowy depths of a 
 wide-spreading cedar, sings night after night his 
 lonesome song over the ashes of as hospitable, 
 benevolent, gifted and charming a Southern gen- 
 tleman as ever lived and died between the Poto- 
 mac and the Mississippi.
 
 THE TWO CRONIES 
 
 205
 
 The Two Cronies 
 
 I 
 
 DAN AND BILLY 
 
 The Yazoo Delta has quite a number of lakes 
 buried in its sylvan depths, some famous for 
 beauty, some for utility, others for sport in the 
 way of hunting and fishing, and still others for 
 all combined. Among the latter was one which 
 we will call Clear Lake. It was a body of water 
 fully ten or fifteen miles in length and three hun- 
 dred yards in width. In some seasons of the year 
 it was not so broad, but was always a beautiful 
 sheet of water, lined with a narrow fringe of cy- 
 press trees and a broad belt of cultivated planta- 
 tions on one side, and a deep, dark forest on the 
 other. With imposing bends and beautiful views 
 extending one and two miles to the next curve of 
 wooded shore, no one could look upon this work 
 of nature without a feeling of deep pleasure. 
 
 It was a rich contribution to the gallery of men- 
 tal pictures to see Clear Lake at the hours of sun- 
 
 207
 
 208 The Two Cronies 
 
 set and twilight. At such times both sky and 
 earth contended for the heart of the water beauty, 
 and she, like a coquette, secured gifts from both, 
 taking a rosy flush from the West, a ribbon of 
 light from the sky, and a belt of purple shadows 
 which the forest upon the northern bank urged 
 upon her. Later still, the evening star pinned a 
 diamond on her breast. 
 
 The principal crafts on the lake were skiffs, a 
 box-like scow made for trot-line fishing and gig- 
 ging purposes, and the more popular dug-out, a 
 boat of eight or ten feet in length, car\^ed so to 
 speakj out of a single log and made so light and 
 capsizeable that a stranger, taking his first ride in 
 one, would be advised not to shift the chew of to- 
 bacco in his mouth. They were paddled with one 
 oar, could go very swiftly and made the slight- 
 est rippling noise when in full motion, and so 
 were much used in hunting and fishing, besides be- 
 ing utilized for visiting purposes both by blacks 
 and whites. What the gondola was to Venice, the 
 dug-out was to Clear Lake. 
 
 The homes of the plantation owners were sepa- 
 rated a mile or more from each other, and gen- 
 erally fronted the lake; the ''place" itself, at the 
 time of which we write, being rented, and sub- 
 rented to negroes and a sprinkling of white peo- 
 ple.
 
 The Two Cronies 209 
 
 Among the notable characters who lived on 
 Clear Lake was Daniel Bivings. He had come out 
 of the Civil War with no military honor and re- 
 nown; with no wounds, trophies or treasure ; and, 
 in fact, with but little else than a long gray coat 
 and slouch hat. In the general wreck which fol- 
 lowed the ** Surrender," it was but natural that 
 he should look about for means of support for 
 himself and mother; and, not being a professional 
 man, and not having any capital to start a store, 
 the wisest thing he could do, and, in fact, the only 
 step which was left him, was to rent twenty acres 
 of cleared land, with a two-roomed cabin facing 
 the swamp, and commence farming on a small 
 scale under Major Ellerton, whose beautiful plan- 
 tation lay stretched for a mile upon the shore of 
 the still more beautiful lake. 
 
 Dan was a tall, thin, sallow-looking man of 
 forty. He had a bald head, large, faded blue eyes, 
 and a narrow, Eoman nose, the last third of it al- 
 ways red; and a long, straggling beard which had 
 a way of parting and floating over each shoulder 
 when he plowed in the field or rode with any de- 
 gree of swiftness on horse, or, more properly 
 speaking, mule back. 
 
 He was not considered handsome by his warm- 
 est friends, while one of his enemies said *'that the
 
 210 The Two Cro7iies 
 
 devil himself would run if he met him in the 
 dark." 
 
 Dan had no special fondness for labor; he was 
 theoretically, practically and constitutionally op- 
 posed to it. But the celebrated Hobson's choice 
 (not of Merrimac fame) confronted him and he 
 had to take the plow handles or starve. 
 
 He had secured as his plow animal, as well as 
 steed for riding, a tall old mule upon whom he 
 confen^ed the name of January, but for what rea- 
 son does not appear unless certain patches of 
 white hair here and there reminded his owner of 
 that frosty snowy month of the year. January, 
 like his master, was not overly fond of work, and 
 showed a constant disposition to stop. He had a 
 way of galloping, when vigorously urged to do so, 
 which showed considerable action of body, but not 
 much progress ; it was a great going up and down, 
 but with precious little forward movement. He 
 had also contracted or inherited the affliction of 
 deafness. ''He's not only dumb, sir," said Dan, 
 "but deef." It was not a moderate case of hard- 
 ness of hearing, that scarcely did the subject jus- 
 tice, for it required something approximating 
 thunder to produce a sensation on the tympanum 
 of the animal's ear. We said it was an affliction, 
 but this was questionable, for this very deafness
 
 The Two Cronies 211 
 
 saved January from hearing the many bitter and 
 sometimes unmentionable things which Dan said 
 about him, mainly in his presence, and so became 
 a kind of protection to the finer sensibilities of his 
 mule nature. 
 
 It was both a sight and sound never to be for- 
 gotten when Dan hitched up Januan^ and started 
 in the springtime to break up the ground for plant- 
 ing. Everj'body knew in a mile's distance the 
 morning the work commenced, as he made more 
 noise than all the other plowers in that part of the 
 plantation. 
 
 "Whoa, January! Gee, mule! Haw there Jan- 
 uary-! Don't you hear me telling you to haw? 
 Haw mule ! Wlioa-haw-mule ! Bum your ole hide 
 —is you plum deef? Haw there, mule! Did any- 
 body ever see such a— whoa, there, January! 
 Whoa— haw— gee ! ' ' 
 
 And so it went on, all the morning and evening, 
 the woods taking up the echoes, passers-by smil- 
 ing, while distant negro plowers would say with 
 a loud guffaw to each other across the fuiTows: 
 "Marse Dan an' Jinewary is in fur it ter-day." 
 And so they were, the mule partly on account of 
 his nature, but mainly through his deafness, hav- 
 ing most of it his own way. As Dan grew excited 
 in these plowing experiences his eyes would bulge,
 
 212 The Tiro Cronies 
 
 his nose booome inflamed, his beard part as Janu- 
 ary serenely and unconsciously dragged him 
 around, while his voice would take on a tremolo 
 attachment as he vociferated, ''Gee-e-e- Janu- 
 ary'—" with a rising inflection on the name that 
 was always lost upon the animal, but invariably 
 convulsed human listeners. Then, as the mule 
 in his deafness kept going on when he should 
 have stopped, and stopped when he should have 
 gone on, Dan would fairly sui-pass himself in ad- 
 jectives, expletives and expressions which we 
 could never get our consent to have appear on 
 these pages. 
 
 Dan had several faults. One already antici- 
 pated was occasional profanity. He said in exten- 
 uation that January was the sole cause of it, that 
 he would long ago have been a consistent member 
 of the Church but for that mule. He gravely af- 
 firmed that January would have to be responsible 
 for the loss of his soul. 
 
 His second fault was tobacco chewing. So great 
 was his fondness for the weed that he seemed 
 rather to eat it than to ruminate with that slow 
 motion of the jaws which other practiced. Then 
 he used ever>^ brand, not caring who made it or 
 where it came from, so it was tobacco. The juice 
 from these different grades and qualities trickling
 
 The Two Cronies 213 
 
 upon and staining his beard with lines of brown, 
 orange and other rich oriental colors, had given 
 him something like a rainbow as a chin appen- 
 dage. The quids which he masticated and ex- 
 hausted were so large that there was a legend on 
 the Lake that a hunter mistook one for a black- 
 bird and fired upon it. In expectorating Dan 
 made no less than three distinct sounds, the labial 
 detonation of course, being regulated by the 
 amount of ambia on hand or, rather, in the mouth. 
 A third moral blemish in Dan's life was an oc- 
 casional spree. Those who knew him best said 
 that he always had a little liquor in him, and that 
 the color of his nose correctly gauged the amount 
 inside. It was supposed that daily potations kept 
 the pink blossom on the end of his nostrils all the 
 year round. As he went deeper into his cups the 
 scarlet steadily ascended, and when Dan had all 
 he could hold the entire organ became aflame, his 
 eyes would assume a set expression, or a "sot- 
 look," as the negroes called it, and it became al- 
 most impossible for the obsen-er to look at the 
 man and preserve his gravity. The attempt to 
 appear wise and solemn as he fixed his eyes and 
 pulled his beard, resulting only in an exceedingly 
 empty and silly looking face and demeanor, made 
 a picture not soon to be forgotten.
 
 214 The Two Cronies 
 
 But Dan had also a virtue. He was a man of 
 few words. Whether it was that he had nothing 
 to say, or did not care to say anything, for there 
 was a difference of opinion here; yet it was gen- 
 erally admitted that he was a man of remarkable 
 reticence, having only on several occasions been 
 betrayed into a paragraphic utterance. In fact, 
 a neighbor once said of him that "Dan Bivings 
 had said less and spit more in Yazoo County than 
 any man who ever lived there." 
 
 The following quite common colloquy may 
 serv^e to give an idea of Dan's ornate style of 
 speech : 
 
 ^Good morning, Dan." 
 Momin '. ' ' 
 
 'How is everything on the Lake?" 
 Middlin'," 
 
 ' ' Is your mother well ? ' ' 
 
 'Yep." 
 
 'Crop all right?" 
 Shore. ' ' 
 
 'Going to Yazoo City to-day?" 
 
 Tah." 
 
 ' Will you be back to-night ? " 
 
 ^Uh-hunh." 
 
 'Fine day to-day." 
 
 'You bet." 
 When Dan had a few drinks aboard, was seated
 
 The Two Cronies 215 
 
 on a box, or in a barrel chair before the stove of 
 a country store, he was the picture of drunken 
 gravity. Being asked some simple question, he 
 would pull his beard reflectively for a minute, ex- 
 pectorate, say *'Yep," and then roll his eyes 
 around with the air of a man who had delivered 
 himself. If he went deeper in his cups he gave up 
 even his monosyllables, set his eyes, combed his 
 beard with his fingers, and looked like a Judge, 
 Coroner and Undertaker, all three in one. 
 
 Dan had periodic movements, one of a weekly 
 and the other of a monthly character. Every Sat- 
 urday he visited a country store five miles from 
 Clear Lake at the foot of the hills, where he 
 lounged away the day with other equally industri- 
 ous characters, made his three tobacco sounds, 
 said yep, yah, shore and uh-hunh, and returned 
 late in the evening through the swamp to his log 
 cabin, with the red banner unfurled at varying 
 length along the nostril, his mother having only 
 to glance at this member of her son's countenance 
 to know whether she should get supper for him 
 or put him to bed. 
 
 Then once a month he went to Yazoo City. For 
 what pui7)0se was not clear, as he traded on credit 
 at the country store mentioned. But still he would 
 go, and his presence would illuminate again the
 
 216 The Tivo Cronies 
 
 streets of the county seat. He would not tarry 
 long, as lie came twenty miles, and had to return 
 the same distance. So, with all his loafing around, 
 blending his tobacco juice with that of the weed 
 chewing fraternity, and contributing his **yeps" 
 and ''shores" to the general current of street talk, 
 he would every now and then take a glance at the 
 sun, and at four in the afternoon rejoin January, 
 who had been fastened back of a store in a dusty 
 lot that was plentifully garnished with dog fen- 
 nel and jimson weed. 
 
 As January generally dozed away the hours 
 when tied in this interesting locality, and was 
 deaf, as has been narrated, whenever Dan touched 
 the reins, there would be a sudden wakening, vio- 
 lent snorting and backing of the mule, while Dan, 
 dragged most unceremoniously through the weeds, 
 would, with the old tremolo movement of the 
 voice, cry out: 
 
 "Did you ever see sech an old fool! Who-o-a 
 there January ! ' ' 
 
 After this they would loom forth on Mound 
 Street, next up Jefferson, then into and along 
 Main, heading north ; January with his three mo- 
 tions, upward, downward and somewhat home- 
 ward, and Dan with flapping elbows, parted 
 beard, and set eyes, both rider and steed now evi-
 
 The Two Cronies 217 
 
 dentl}^ agreed upon one thing, and that being to 
 reach home as soon after nightfall as possible. 
 
 Billy Buffington, the bosom friend and frequent 
 companion of Dan Bivings, was beardless, round- 
 faced and sandy-haired. He had a way when 
 deeply interested in his own speech of stepping 
 back after one of his remarks, and with his hands 
 on his hips, sun^eying the person he had just ad- 
 dressed, as if to see whether he could possibly bear 
 up after such a deliverance. At the same time 
 his nostrils would expand, and his eyes had a cu- 
 rious way of enlarging, so that the whites could 
 be seen like a ring around the pupils. He had also 
 a habit, not to say accomplishment, of gathering 
 his lips in a kind of pucker, and then suddenly 
 expelling the air with a "flit" or bullet-like sound, 
 which made one think of a minnie-ball shot from 
 a gun. As he at the same time dropped his head 
 on one side and slightly closed one of his eyes, it 
 greatly strengthened the appearance. 
 
 Billy had no drinking habits, but smoked a cob 
 pipe, and indulged in the use of the single by- 
 word, "I Ganny," by which he relieved himself 
 in times of high mental pressure. What it meant 
 we confess to the profoundest ignorance. He also 
 used, as a kind of climax, certain facts in connec- 
 tion with the military history of Kobert E. Lee
 
 218 The Two Cronies 
 
 and Stonewall Jackson, wliicli he seemed to regard 
 as argument clinchers to any statement or speech 
 he had just made. From these latter expressions 
 it was easy to see where his sympathies were in 
 the Civil War. As he himself would say, to visit- 
 ing friends, *'Do you see those two hounds there 
 on the floor? Well, sir, that's Lee and Jackson. 
 That tells the story, sir. That shows you who I 
 am, and where I am, or Stonewall Jackson was no 
 fighter." 
 
 Saying this, he would back off, look at one with 
 the white rings around his eyes as if he expected 
 the person to fall over; would next shoot a minnie- 
 ball in the air, and then return to the quiet walks 
 of peaceful life once more. 
 
 Billy, like Dan, was a bachelor of forty years 
 of age, or thereabouts. Like many others, he found 
 himself, at the end of the Civil War, stripped of 
 all he once possessed, and had to come down, with 
 great reluctance, to hard work. He rented a small 
 piece of land fronting on Clear Lake, and situ- 
 ated about two miles from his friend Bivings. 
 
 His preparation for his first day's plowing, 
 a labor to which he was a perfect stranger, ex- 
 cited the wonder of every passer-b}^ He carried 
 out to the field with him an umbrella, a wash bowl 
 pitcher and towel, and a large palmetto fan.
 
 The Two Cronies 219 
 
 Plowing to the end of the row, and then back, he 
 wonld leave his horse, bathe his crimson face, then 
 get under his umbrella, and there sit for ten min- 
 utes vigorously fanning himself. The furrows he 
 made tliat day were not numerous on account of 
 the frequent washings and f annings and prolonged 
 rests, and they were also quite remarkable for 
 their crookedness. Some one, passing by, cried 
 out: ''Hello, Billy, what is the matter with your 
 furrows?" His ringing reply, from under the 
 umbrella, was: 
 
 ' ' The sun warped 'em, or Bob Lee was no Gen- 
 eral." 
 
 Two other things greatly militated against his 
 being a successful agriculturist. One was his 
 fondness for fishing and hunting, which would be- 
 guile him in the woods or to the Lake shore or 
 Yazoo Eiver; and the other was his friendship for 
 Daniel Bivings. In fact, this intimacy greatly 
 injured the crops of both of these gentlemen. 
 They paid each other two or three visits a week. 
 Billy would come up on his gray mare to see how 
 Dan and his crop was getting on, and they would 
 become so interested in talking about the best way 
 of planting, the finest seed, the longest staple, the 
 highest price, and so forth, that several hours 
 would pass bv unnoticed, all to the hurt of the
 
 220 The Two Croniei 
 
 growing com and cotton, albeit to tlie great enjoy- 
 ment of the Gray and January. 
 
 After this, Dan would go down to see Billy, and, 
 either sitting on January or perched on the staked 
 and ridered fence, the unfinished conversation 
 about the crops would be resumed, or reminis- 
 cences of the war related for the one hundredth 
 time. Billy, at first, would plow a furrow or so, 
 saying he was badly in the grass, but the talk 
 would become so interesting that it would result 
 in his mounting the top rail of the panel near Dan 
 and then for the next two or three hours great 
 agricultural and military problems would be 
 solved, while January dozed on one side of the 
 fence, the Gray on the other, and the crap grass 
 and the morning glories, with their white, pink 
 and purple blossoms, wound a death embrace 
 around the stalks of the rustling com. The sun- 
 shine gleamed on field and forest, the waves of the 
 Lake rippled in the crisp morning breeze, the field 
 lark dipped his undulating flight across the 
 meadow, and the bright-hued woodpecker sent 
 forth his shrill vocal performance and applauded 
 himself vigorously on a dead limb. It was the 
 ver>' moming that men with the constitutional pe- 
 culiarities of Bivings and Buffington would enjoy 
 sitting on a fence chewing toothpicks fumished by 
 the splinters of the top rail, and telling how the 
 world might, could, would and should be ran.
 
 The Two Cronies 221 
 
 Dan and Billy were of good stock, as they were 
 fond of saying. While Mississippians born and 
 raised, yet they allowed few opportunities to es- 
 cape of referring to the Buffingtons of Virginia, 
 and the Bivings of South Carolina. But what 
 with the demoralizing influence of the war, fre- 
 quent contact with a lower race in the struggle for 
 bread, they had become careless in dress as well 
 as in speech. They discarded neckties about the 
 time they dropped the "g" in all words ending 
 in "ing"; and ceased blacking their shoes close 
 to the date when they turned the letter '^e" into 
 '*i" in the word get. They had also taken liber- 
 ties with the English language in other particu- 
 lars, which the Buffingtons of Virginia and the 
 Bivings of South Carolina would never have 
 tolerated. In fact, Dan and Billy both said so; 
 therefore, it must have been so, 
 
 II 
 
 THE CAUSE OF DIVISION 
 
 In the midst of the warm friendship existing 
 between Dan and Billv there arrived a familv to
 
 222 The Two Cronies 
 
 live on Clear Lake, by the name of Robinson. This 
 household, which was to exercise a great influence 
 in the lives of the Cronies, had come down from 
 the hills whose red clay fields had yielded them 
 such a bare living that they had concluded to try 
 the rich black soil of the swamp. They were in 
 humble circumstances, one wagon containing all 
 their possessions. They moved into a three- 
 roomed cabin on Major Ellerton's place, midway 
 between Bivings and Buffington. The home cir- 
 cle consisted of the father, who was a widower, 
 two gawky sons, of fifteen and sixteen, and a very 
 good looking girl of eighteen, called Amanda, 
 which name the family had abbreviated to Mandy. 
 
 The daughter of the Robinsons was a tall, slen- 
 der maiden with large, dark eyes, and beautiful 
 complexion. She had the habit often seen in cer- 
 tain walks of life of wearing a sun bonnet in the 
 house. She had also the drawling, sing-song way 
 of talking, peculiar to a social plane in the hill 
 country. While at first one would be disposed to 
 smile at and object to this conversational chant- 
 ing which so encroached on the nasal, yet, modi- 
 fied as it was in Mandy 's case, and made melo- 
 dious by her really sweet voice, the sound at last 
 became pleasant to the ear. 
 
 So it did to Daniel Bivings and William Buf- 
 fington, who, in passing and repassing the house,
 
 The Two Cronies 223 
 
 would suddenly become thirsty, and made it con- 
 venient to stop for sundry gourds of water; and 
 at last, from a mere acquaintanceship, reached the 
 point where, in going by, they would be cordially 
 hailed by Joe Robinson, the father, as he sat in 
 his shirt sleeves on the porch, and told to ''light 
 and look at your saddle". 
 
 This was considered a highly proper and cordial 
 invitation by both sides, and from alighting and 
 looking at their saddles, Dan and Billy had at 
 different times, but hardly ever together, got first 
 to the gallery, then into the plain front apartment 
 used as a sitting and bed room combined, and 
 finally to an occasional meal with the family. 
 Here Mr, Robinson and his boys ate in their shirt 
 sleeves, while Mandy, with the sides of her sun 
 bonnet flapping about her fire crimsoned face, 
 waited on the table, and with her sing-song voice 
 and pretty rows of teeth, completed the damage 
 already begun in the hearts of her visitors. 
 
 Both Dan and Billy were inwardly convinced 
 that the Bivings of South Carolina, and the Buf- 
 fingtons of Virginia, would have been horrified at 
 the shirt-sleeved spectacle at the table, and highly 
 amused and scornful over the drawl which all the 
 family possessed; but Mandy 's eyes, cheeks and 
 trim figure were too much for the social exiles,
 
 224 The Two Cronies 
 
 and so family scruples and opinions first tottered 
 and then fell with a crash before this spectacle 
 of country charms clothed in red calico. 
 
 It was difficult to tell when Mandy was most 
 fascinating. Sometimes she looked best at the 
 chui-n, stopping the dasher occasionally to bend 
 forward and hear what her admirers were saying. 
 But this attractive vision had to go down before 
 the flitting spectacle at the spinning wheel, as, 
 with the delicate thread in her hand, the girl 
 walked backward and forward, a picture of un- 
 conscious ease and grace. Then this in turn sank 
 into inferiority before the supple, bending form 
 and crimson cheeks brought to their rose color by 
 hovering over the skillets and frying pans in the 
 preparation of dinner. 
 
 After one of these scenes both Dan and Billy 
 dreamed of palatial homes on the Yazoo River, 
 with steamers passing in front, statuary on the 
 lawn, and a sumptuous sitting and dining room 
 combined, with a table bountifully supplied, and 
 at the head a smiling vision of loveliness in five- 
 cent red calico saying in a sing-song voice: 
 "Husban', hev somethin' mo' on yo' plate?" 
 
 When Billy dreamed this dream, he was sure 
 that Mandy was talking to him in her drawling
 
 The Two Cronies 225 
 
 voice, but awoke to find it was the droning sound 
 of a spinning wheel in a neighboring negro cabin. 
 The awakening was quite bitter. 
 
 This attachment was the first division between 
 the two friends. Both were in love with Mandy, 
 and both wanted to conceal it from the other. 
 About these two facts there remained not a 
 shadow of doubt. As to other facts, whether she 
 loved them, and which one she liked best, there 
 was grave uncertainty. To outsiders the girl 
 seemed to feel and act the same toward the Cro- 
 nies. It was noticeable that she began smiling 
 the instant she saw either one, and during their 
 visits would burst into fits of laughter, and that, 
 too, when nothing was being said. 
 
 At first this merriment disturbed her two visit- 
 ors somewhat, but they finally grew accustomed 
 to it as they had to her chanting style of talking, 
 and now rather liked the outbursts. 
 
 Buffington, however, was certain that he recog- 
 nized signs of a decided preference for himself, 
 and felt that much of Mandy 's laughter sprang 
 from a heart overflowing with happiness over the 
 presence of love in her heart and the object of her 
 devotion before her eyes. Then one day she told 
 him something about Dan which convinced him
 
 226 The Two Cronies 
 
 tliat he (Billy) was tlie favored man. On the 
 other hand she confided something to Dan rela- 
 tive to Billy, which caused the Master of January 
 to chuckle a good deal, not only then, hut all that 
 afternoon. 
 
 Such was the situation of affairs for some 
 weeks, greatly to the benefit of the crops of both 
 men, for they being somewhat suspicious and 
 jealous of one another, the old time mutual visits 
 were discontinued; and as love is said to drive 
 one's chariot wheels, and they had no chariots, 
 but plows, they actually did more and better 
 plowing than they had since the first year of their 
 renting, at which time they strove for a reputation 
 for industry. 
 
 As Dan ** broke out the middles" in the field, 
 and saw the soft black earth turned into long 
 beautiful ridges, it was a prophecy in figure to 
 him of Mandy yielding to his steady advances; 
 and in the swelling furrow, he could see the bosom 
 of the girl heaving under the attentions and love 
 he was softly and persistently throwing upon her. 
 
 Billy Buffington, in his rambles through the 
 woods, or by the river or lake side with gun or 
 fishing pole, had Mandy in his mind when he 
 brought down a duck on the wing, or landed a 
 glittering perch on the shore.
 
 The Two Cronies 227 
 
 ''I'll bag her yet," or ''I'll string her sure," 
 was his chuckling comment at the end of many a 
 successful shot or haul. Sometimes it was "I 
 Ganny, I 've got her, or Bob Lee was no General. ' ' 
 
 The attentions of the two Cronies to the damsel 
 from the hills were not confined to sighs, glances 
 and soft words, but there were actions of such a 
 public nature as set many doubts at rest and at 
 the same time many tongues agoing on Clear 
 Lake. These ministries plainly indicated both the 
 love and rivaliw. Billy took Mandy to a barbecue 
 on the Yazoo River, whereupon Dan escorted her 
 to a fish fiy on Honey Island. Billy treated her 
 to a horse back ride to the hills, and Dan imme- 
 diately retorted with a skiff row on Clear Lake by 
 moonlight. 
 
 Neither did these labors of love end here, but 
 developed in a still more material and profitable 
 character. Billy sent in a string of fish; Dan 
 brought a sack of sweet potatoes. Billy presented 
 three wild ducks; Dan carried over a half dozen 
 kershaws. Billy gave some squirrels; Dan fol- 
 lowed suit with a bag of dried peaches. 
 
 So the tokens of remembrance and regard 
 rained on Mandy to the improvement of her home 
 larder, and the perfect satisfaction of Mr. Robin- 
 son, the father, who, as he ate these swamp delica- 
 cies, remarked at the table:
 
 228 The Two Cronies 
 
 "I dunno, but I'd like to have about three sons- 
 in-law, Mandy, if they'd all do like Bivings and 
 Buffington." 
 
 "I expec'," replied Mandy, ''they'd git no 
 'count after they got married." 
 
 Mr. Robinson winced under this speech as he 
 was notoriously fond of sitting a long time in one 
 place and allowing other people to do what prop- 
 erly belonged to him. Indeed it had been whis- 
 pered around in the hills that Mrs. Robinson had 
 sunk into the grave ahead of time, owing to Mr. 
 Robinson having permitted her to perform her 
 full quota of farm work and half of his own in 
 addition. He was a forgetful kind of man about 
 some things. 
 
 But to return to the Cronies' love affair; the 
 climax was reached in Dan's case one day when 
 Mandy taught him how to card cotton, and turn 
 the bats into fleecy white rolls ready for the spin- 
 ning wheel. Dan was all in a tremble when the 
 girl bent over him with her warm breath on his 
 cheek and showed him the mystery. He was slow 
 to leam, as the teaching kept Mandy close by, but 
 by and by, he mastered the art, although he felt 
 quite foolish when Billy rode up and saw him 
 sitting in the room busily at work with a pile of 
 the transformed material in a chair before him.
 
 The Two Cronies 229 
 
 Billy looked a little sulky at first over this home 
 scene, but being naturally of a sunny disposition, 
 he soon shot olf his bosom gloom through his lips, 
 in the shape of a few aerial bullets, and had the 
 very next day the pleasure of holding a hank of 
 yam in his hands while Mandy rolled the thread 
 on a ball, as it slipped from his agitated fingers. 
 
 Billy felt he could stay in such a position for- 
 ever; for the task brought them very near to- 
 gether, and the thread would get into occasional 
 tangles, causing Mandy 's hand to come in contact 
 with his as she strove with the knot, and sending 
 magnetic thrills through him at everj^ touch. He 
 was not much of a praying man, but he most fer- 
 vently hoped, if he did not supplicate, that there 
 would be no end to the knots and no tennination 
 whatever to the thread of that hank which Mandy 
 had hung on his outstretched palms and uplifted 
 thumbs. Meanwhile his enchantress told him: 
 
 *'He was the orkidest man she ever seen." 
 
 All of which delighted him, for a man in love 
 enjoys being scolded in that kind of way by the 
 object of his affection. She certainly played 
 havoc with Billy that morning, for as she coiled 
 the thread on the ball, she wound the love-sick 
 Mississippian more than ever around herself. 
 
 **I Ganny," said the victim afterwards to him-
 
 230 The Two Cronies 
 
 self, ''she wrapped me 'round her finger that day 
 good fashion, or Stonewall Jackson was no 
 fighter. ' ' 
 
 During the days that Dan helped Mandy, or 
 thought he helped her, in the carding of cotton, 
 January gained ten pounds, and the grass in the 
 Bivings ' field grew almost as many inches. 
 
 As for Billy, after the hank and ball winding 
 experience, he felt so soft-hearted and kind to 
 everything that for days he had no desire to jerk 
 a fish out of the water, or bring a bird or squirrel 
 down from a tree with one of his unerring shots. 
 
 There was one thing, however, which puzzled 
 both Dan and Billy, about Mandy, and that was, 
 that more than once, and right in the midst of 
 their most devoted attentions to her, she had 
 asked them, as if coming out of a brown study: 
 
 "Do vou know the Poorvall folks?" 
 
 She would say nothing more after the question, 
 but look like she had something else to state, but 
 either could not, or would not. 
 
 One morning, the very day of the hank and 
 yarn ball incident, Mandy chanted out : 
 
 "Do you know the Poon^all folks, as lives on 
 Big Black r^ 
 
 "No," replied Billy. "Did you ever meet the 
 Bulfingtons of Virginia!"
 
 The Two Cronies 231 
 
 As Mandy had been bom and raised on Techeva 
 Creek, and had never been over four miles from 
 Yazoo County, there was a most refreshing need- 
 lessness in the query. Of course Mandy replied 
 in the negative. Billy, in speaking about it after- 
 wards to Dan, said: 
 
 "As sure as Stonewall Jackson was a fighter, I 
 floored her, sir, with that question. This is the 
 third time she has asked me about those Poorv^all 
 folks, as she calls them. But I saw her wince, and 
 give in, when I mentioned the Buffingtons." 
 
 ''The Pur\"alls," remarked Dan, "must be some 
 punkins, for she has asked me a time or two if I 
 knew 'em." 
 
 "Well, sir," replied Billy, shooting several min- 
 nie balls, "they may be some pumpkins but the 
 Buffingtons is the horse that can swallow them 
 and put them out of sight." 
 
 "Yep," answered Dan, with a pitchoo, "but 
 punkins is too much for a horse sometimes." 
 
 It was only a few days after, that Dan was mak- 
 ing a short morning call on the Robinson family 
 in general, and Mandy in particular. The girl 
 was sitting in a low chair, on the puncheon floor 
 galleiy, knitting. A string of red pepper hung 
 just over her head on the wall, together with two 
 fishing poles and a yellow gourd near the water
 
 232 The Two Cro7iies 
 
 pail on tlie shelf. A cat purred at her feet. In 
 the sunshine a handsome red and gold-tinted roos- 
 ter was escorting a dozen comely hens around in 
 the front yard, and taking full time to show off 
 liis gorgeous dress, while a loud cackling in the 
 back yard announced a new laid egg. 
 
 The domestic scene quite warmed Dan's heart; 
 he felt that if Robinson and his two gawky boys, 
 then sitting in the front room, could be wiped out 
 of existence, he would like to step in that very 
 morning, and then and there become the master 
 and owner of everything in sight, especially of 
 Mandy. 
 
 He had come down to tell her that Billy and 
 himself were going away the next day to the head 
 of Honey Island on a hunting and fishing excur- 
 sion. He intended to watch her closely when he 
 gave this information and see how the tidings 
 would affect her. By her agitation or manifest 
 pain he would get more light on the matter as to 
 how much she returned the love which was glow- 
 ing in his heart for her; so with a considerable 
 quaver of anxiety in his voice, he said: 
 
 "Miss Mandy, after to-day you won't see me 
 and Billy again for quite a while. ' ' 
 
 **Do say," sing-songed Mandy. "Whur you 
 goin'?"
 
 The Two Cronies 233 
 
 **Way up the river on a camp hunt. Gone a 
 whole week." 
 
 ''Well, you mus' take keer o' yourself." 
 
 ''Shore," replied Dan, and looked in vain for 
 the sign of the iron entering her soul at the 
 thought of separation. Perhaps it pierced too 
 deep for human eyes, thought Dan. So he went 
 through his three tobacco sounds, and steadily 
 looking at her, waited for developments. Sud- 
 denly she seemed to be interested, put her head 
 into a kind of reflecting position and said: 
 
 "Jim, ain't that old Speck er cacklin' out there 
 in the gardin?" 
 
 "No," promptly replied Jim, the younger 
 brother. ' ' Hits Ole Rumplus. ' ' 
 
 "Sold again," thought Dan, with a pitchoo. 
 "But wimmin are cunnin'. They often feel more 
 than they will admit and show. If Robinson and 
 his two long legged boys would only go to the 
 field where they belong, a fellow could say some- 
 thin', and bring the boil to a head." 
 
 So thus Dan inwardly fumed, but to no avail, as 
 Robinson and his two boys had a resting fit on 
 them that morning, and entertained no idea of 
 departing to oblige their visitor or anybody else. 
 
 But for their presence, Dan saw how he could 
 bring the whole matter of doubt into the realm
 
 234 The Two Cronies 
 
 of certainty. He would ask Mandy, for instance, 
 whether she would like him to bring her some 
 bear meat ; and if she said yes, then he would ad- 
 vance a step and offer her a ham of deer. If she 
 still answered affirmatively, he would then softly 
 beg for the privilege of bringing and giving him- 
 self to her. He was much struck with the plan. 
 It was such a delicate, gradual approach, through 
 the bear, then the deer, to himself. The deer pro- 
 nounced gently and tenderly would prepare the 
 way for the concluding offer. 
 
 But then there was Robinson and his two boys 
 in the front room and in full ear shot, so what 
 could he say? Did Robinson never have a court- 
 ing match ? Had his boys no sense ? 
 
 While wondering what to do, Mandy raised her 
 dark eyes from her knitting and said: 
 
 *'Mr. Bivings, do you know the Poorvalls?" 
 
 Dan came very near saying, '^ Plague take the 
 Pun^alls," but checked himself in time, while in- 
 wardly boiling over the situation and the ques- 
 tion. Meantime his discomfort was increased by 
 hearing Robinson and his gosling sons snickering 
 inside the room. What in the name of all the Biv- 
 ings in South Carolina was that lazy, good-for- 
 nothing Joe Robinson and his two long legged 
 boys laughing about?
 
 The Two Cronies 235 
 
 Mandy seemed to be on the point of speaking 
 again, when Billy came riding up, and Dan went 
 away. 
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE 
 
 The oamp hunt was over, and the hunters scat- 
 tered to their different homes loaded with the 
 spoils of the chase. 
 
 Billy concluded to return on the western bank 
 of the Yazoo in order to see a friend, while Dan 
 crossed a river ferry and came homeward on a 
 more direct route. He was in a tremor to see 
 Mandy. He felt that he could not go to his own 
 cabin until he had beheld his charmer of the spin- 
 ning wheel, and red calico dress. So skirting the 
 fields to keep his mother from seeing him, and 
 taking a circuitous course through the woods, he 
 came up on the opposite side of the Robinson 
 home. He had a gunny sack well filled with game, 
 a goodly })ortion being for Mandy. According to 
 previous design he had a piece of bear meat, a 
 venison ham, and a duck; the last being a final 
 happy thought. He intended watching her face
 
 236 The Two Cronies 
 
 closely when the gifts were presented, and if she 
 did not soften when he offered the venison with 
 the word deer softly and significantly pronounced, 
 he would then pull out the fowl and ask her to be 
 his duck. 
 
 As he rode up toward the dwelling his mind 
 filled with these thrilling delicious thoughts, he 
 was astonished to find it silent and desolate. The 
 yard partook of the solitariness of the building, 
 not a sign of life being seen anywhere. The whole 
 place was as if stripped by a cyclone. 
 
 Hitching January at the fence, Dan walked up 
 the yard, through the open door into the empty 
 house. Not a soul was to be seen. Not a stick of 
 furniture was left. The very floor had been swept 
 clean. Walking out to the front gallery the eye 
 noticed that the strings of red pepper, fishing 
 poles, yellow gourd, and bucket were all gone. 
 
 With a sickening sensation, Dan sat down on 
 the steps and wondered what made the world look 
 so empty. A blue jay was screaming in the woods 
 in front, and a woodpecker was solemnly tapping 
 on the dead limb of a large tree near bv. It 
 seemed to Dan that the jay was crj^ing out, 
 *'Mandy," ''Mandy,'' while the woodpecker was 
 driving nails in a coffin up in the air. The man 
 sat wondering and heartsick nearly an hour on 
 the steps of the forsaken home, when Billy Buf-
 
 The Two Cronies 237 
 
 fington suddenly appeared on his gray in the road. 
 
 "Hello, the house," he cried as he reached the 
 gate. 
 
 *' Light," said Dan. 
 
 ''Where is your wife and family?" 
 
 ''Gone a visitin'," replied Dan with a face so 
 solemn that Billy at once changed his bantering 
 tone. 
 
 "Where's the folks," he asked, coming up che 
 walk. 
 
 "Dunno," answered Dan, with a squirt of to- 
 bacco. 
 
 "Well, well, well," ejaculated Billy, as he 
 walked through the silent yard, up on the empty 
 porch, peeped into the vacant rooms, and finally 
 took his seat on the wash shelf. 
 
 "What does all this mean, Dan? Where is 
 Mandy and all the rest?" 
 
 "How do I know! I found the house empty 
 like you see it. ' ' 
 
 Billy gave a long, low whistle, worked his lips 
 a moment, and sent a wind ball toward the yard. 
 
 Dan gave a squashing sound. 
 
 Billy sent another bullet into the air. 
 
 At this juncture. Major Ellerton, who was rid- 
 ing by, stopped at the gate and asked them with 
 a laugh and a sly look if they were examining the 
 premises with a view of renting.
 
 238 The Two Cronies 
 
 The Cronies were too low spirited to return the 
 Major's jocular remark. They, however, ad- 
 vanced to him, and leaning on the fence, were soon 
 put in possession of the following facts, Billy, 
 meanwhile, shooting many a minnie ball as the 
 story proceeded, and Dan going through his three 
 tobacco sounds not less than a dozen times. 
 
 It seemed that the girl had been engaged all the 
 time to a man named Pur\^all, a young farmer liv- 
 ing on Big Black. Purvall had promised his 
 father on his death bed that he would not marry 
 while his mother was living. The mother, quite 
 an invalid, and demanding much of the son's at- 
 tention, had suddenly died a week before and the 
 young man had come down for his betrothed im- 
 mediately after the funeral. Mr. Robinson had 
 found another tenant on Major Ellerton's place, 
 who consented to take his crop and lease off his 
 hand, and the whole family had packed up and 
 gone away with Purvall, only stopping in Yazoo 
 City long enough to get married, and by this time 
 had been in their home on Big Black fully two 
 days. 
 
 At the end of the recital, for a full minute no 
 sound was heard, but the shooting of minnie balls 
 by Billy, and a sound from Dan, which might well 
 have stood for the gushing of blood. Buffington 
 stood looking at the waves of Clear Lake, which
 
 The Two Cronies 239 
 
 could be seen across the field, and Dan bad his 
 eyes fixed on the swamp. The men were evidently 
 so deeply hurt, that Major Ellerton, who was a 
 man of real delicacy of feeling, as well as kind- 
 ness of heart, considerately rode away, with a 
 pleasant smile and a cordial good-bye. 
 
 After a while Billy said: 
 
 *'Sold.'» 
 
 ''You bet," was Dan's solemn reply. 
 
 *'I see now," added Billy, ''what she meant by 
 always asking us if we knew the Purv^alls." 
 
 "Uh-hunh," grunted Dan. 
 
 "Mercv on me, where 's the fool-killer? I'm 
 ready for him," groaned Billy, letting three min- 
 nie balls fly in rapid succession. 
 
 Dan only pitchooed in reply. 
 
 "To think," continued Billy, "of a Buffington 
 going down before a Robinson. Of a man who 
 fought under Bob Lee, flanked and outgeneraled 
 by a girl in calico, hailing from the piney woods." 
 
 "I'm sorry for Purvall," broke in Dan, looking 
 up at the woodpecker, who was still at work on 
 the aerial coffin. 
 
 "Yes, sir," put in Billy; "and so am I. She 
 will fool him yet, just like she did— well— I Gan- 
 ny! Purvall will yet call himself Poorvall before 
 that girl is done with him." 
 
 After some more unburdening of heart loads
 
 240 The Two Cronies 
 
 by way of speech, air balls and expectoration in 
 general, the two Cronies parted, taking different 
 directions toward their homes. 
 
 Now, some men under similar circumstances of 
 disappointed love have been known to commit 
 suicide, others to leave the country forever, and 
 still others have taken to morphine or the whisky 
 bottle; but let the reader note how different was 
 the conduct of our two heroes from all such; and 
 yet also how dissimilarly they acted from each 
 other. 
 
 Billy went on a bear hunt for a week, and came 
 back loaded down with fresh wild meat. He had 
 parted with a good deal of his agony in the woods. 
 Every time he shot he felt better, and when he 
 finally had a tussle with a wounded bear, he said 
 that he worked off on the animal some of the bad 
 feelings which had gathered against Purvall, so 
 that at last he felt he could return home. 
 
 Dan went to Yazoo City. He might have got- 
 ten drunk and careered around his neighborhood, 
 like a wild Indian, but instead he took a day's 
 trip to the county seat. It is true that the visit 
 ended in a spree, but he explained afterwards 
 that he did not so intend. His idea had been to 
 meet some of his street corner tobacco friends and 
 relieve himself conversationally and socially of 
 some of his misery; but the sight of a number of
 
 The Two Cronies 241 
 
 stylishly dressed women on the street revived the 
 memory of Mandy, and before he knew it, he had 
 taken a half dozen drinks, the color had run the 
 entire length of his nose, and Dan, in high feather, 
 was ready for home. 
 
 He found the faithful Januarj^ in the dusty lot 
 among the jimson weeds and dog fennel. He next 
 tied with unsteady hands on the back of his saddle 
 a bundle containing fifteen yards of calico for his 
 mother. Some one saw him five minutes later 
 coming up Main street, and turning the corner of 
 Jefferson, with his beard divided on his shoulders, 
 his eyes set, his nose aflame, January rising and 
 falling in what was intended to be a gallop, and 
 the entire bolt of calico streaming in the wind be- 
 hind. Both mule and rider were serenely uncon- 
 scious of their comet-like appearance, and were 
 last seen bearing off in a northeasterly direction 
 toward Clear Lake. Fortunately for old Mrs. 
 Bivings, the tail of the comet was at last gathered 
 up ; the nucleus in the shape of Dan and his mule 
 reaching home between ten and eleven o'clock. 
 The maternal salutation was: 
 
 ''Is that you, Dan 'el I" 
 
 **Yep, mother." 
 
 "Drunk again, I reckon?" was the rejoinder. 
 
 Whereupon, taking a candle she held it high 
 over her head as she stood in the doorway and
 
 242 The Two Cronies 
 
 inspected her belated son. The nose was red from 
 end to end. This meant that the bed was all that 
 was needed, and so to bed he went, and in five 
 minutes certain stertorous sounds declared that 
 Dan had forgotten all his sorrows. Meanwhile 
 the mother before the fireplace examined and 
 brushed the tail of one comet at least, which had 
 come so nigh the world as to bear off with it a 
 great quantity of mud. 
 
 It was fully two weeks before Dan and Billy felt 
 able to meet each other. There was not only the 
 pain of past associations and memories, but the 
 fact that each had tried to get ahead of the other 
 in winning the hand and heart of the damsel, 
 caused some embarrassing anticipations at the 
 very thought of the other's presence. 
 
 This state of things, however, was a benediction 
 to their crops; for what was left of the pangs of 
 disappointed love, Dan endeavored to work off in 
 his furrows, and Billy did the same, with the 
 added help of shooting ducks in the morning and 
 squirrels in the afternoon. But the old friendship 
 was too strong for a long separation, and so at 
 last Billy received a message from Dan to ' ' Come 
 and see him and bring his dinner along." This 
 was the very height of a cordial invitation, and 
 in due time Billy arrived. For the first few min- 
 utes there was naturally a little stiffness and
 
 The Two Cronies 243 
 
 awkwardness, with some facial perfonnances not 
 put down in books of oraton', rhetoric and the 
 like; but after Billy had shot five or six minnie 
 balls and Dan had gone through his tobacco 
 sounds twice, and said "Yep," "Yah," "You 
 bet" and "Shore," the two human streams came 
 together again and flowed on amicably as of yore. 
 They even attempted a little guying of each other, 
 as follows: 
 
 ' * Dan, what made you ever imagine that Mandy 
 loved you?" 
 
 **For the same reason," fired back Dan, "that 
 you fancied she loved you." 
 
 "She never cared for you like she did for me, 
 Dan. She had a different feeling for me than she 
 did for you. ' ' 
 
 "Yep," replied Dan, "and she had a different 
 feeling for Purvall, it seems, than she had for 
 you. ' ' 
 
 Billy winced under this retort, but went on: 
 
 "This affair has greatly softened my nature. 
 It is making a man out of me. It is really a golden 
 sorrow to me." 
 
 "I don't see either gold, silver, or bank notes 
 in it myself," was Dan's dry rejoinder. 
 
 "Dan," returned Billy, "I see there is nothing 
 of the poetic or the sentimental about you. T was 
 speaking figuratively of course. The Buffingtons
 
 244 The Two Cronies 
 
 of Virginia, were people of a cultured and poetic 
 nature. ' ' 
 
 ''I'll stake," broke in Dan, ''the Bivings of 
 South Carolina, against the whole world for the 
 high bred and correct thing in all matters, ' ' 
 
 "The fact is," said Billy, paying no attention 
 to Dan, "I have inherited a great deal of the Buf- 
 fington's taste and ability for poetry. Did I ever 
 tell you about my writing some sonnets and odes 
 for the papers?" 
 
 "Dunno that you did," answered Dan with a 
 bored look. 
 
 "Well, I did, and this sorrow has revived my 
 dormant gifts and I have begun a poem called 
 "Lines to Mandy." I have written one verse al- 
 ready, and expect to write three more with a re- 
 frain to each verse." 
 
 "If T were you," replied Dan, with a twinkle 
 in his eye, "I would make the whole thing a re- 
 frain. ' ' 
 
 "Now, look here, Dan Bivings, if you intend 
 that for a joke, I hope Heaven will forgive you, 
 for I can't; the thing is too poor to live, much 
 less to forgive. But would you really like to hear 
 what I have written ? ' ' 
 
 "Shore," returned Dan, taking a big bite off 
 his tobacco plug in order to fortify himself. 
 
 Billy solemnly removed a leathern wallet from
 
 The Two Cronies 245 
 
 his inside pocket and with careful hands extracted 
 a sheet of letter paper which, as he unfolded, re- 
 vealed the caption and a solitary stanza near the 
 top. Billy sat down on a stump, and after firing 
 a few minnie balls into space, proceeded to read 
 with proper melodramatic voice the following 
 lines, with Dan looking over his shoulder: 
 
 LINES TO MANDY ROBINSON 
 
 The partridge whistles for its mate, 
 The lonely dove mourns from the pine, 
 
 The black bird 
 And Mandy Rob 'son is not mine. 
 
 ''Whv don't vou end that third line?" asked 
 Dan. 
 
 ^'Well" replied Billy, scratching the back of 
 his head so as to tilt his hat over his forehead, ''I 
 can't find a rhjniie for mate. There is plate, skate, 
 grate, late, and fate, but none of them will do. I 
 stayed awake half a night trjing to fix up that 
 third line, but it's a goner. It's no use going to 
 the second verse till I get this one fixed up." 
 
 ''Can't you make the black bird line end with 
 sitting on the gate?" suggested Dan, sympatheti- 
 cally.
 
 246 The Two Cronies 
 
 "No;" replied Billy, "there would be no sense 
 or appropriateness in that." 
 
 Dan sent about a gill of ambia to the ground, 
 wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and 
 said with the air of one who had solved a great 
 problem : 
 • "Change your bird." 
 
 * ' Oh, that won 't do, ' ' snapped Billy. ' ' There 's 
 nothing the matter with the black bird; it's an 
 appropriate rhyme to mate I want and can't get. 
 I tried a half night, I tell j^ou, and it won't come." 
 
 "Yep, I see," returned Dan. "But it won't do 
 to leave the thing like it is, for it reads now that 
 'The black bird and Mandy Rob 'son is not mine,' 
 that is that two things don't belong to you, Mandy 
 and the black bird." 
 
 "Well," answered Billy weaiiedly, "it's got to 
 stay that way until I get a rhyme for mate that 
 will meet the demands of the poem." 
 
 Dan still continued to look over Billy's shoulder 
 at the embryo poem with an occasional "pitchoo" 
 in the air. Finally he spoke: 
 
 "Billy, what makes you cut up Mandy 's last 
 name that w^ay and call it Rob 'son!" 
 
 "That," replied Billy, "is to put the regular 
 number of feet in the last line. I studied that kind 
 of thing the year I was in college." 
 
 "Well, why don't you take some of your extry
 
 The Two Cronies 247 
 
 feet out of your last line and put 'em in the third 
 line with the black bird ? ' ' 
 
 *'Dan Bivings," interjected Billy, "you know 
 as much about poetry as a woodpecker does about 
 the Fourth of July." 
 
 Whereupon, taking the precious manuscript 
 and, returaing it tenderly to the leathern wallet, 
 and that receptacle to his pocket, he made a min- 
 nie ball, fired it into the air and stood with folded 
 arms looking in a meditative way at a distant 
 gleaming vision of Clear Lake.
 
 248 The Two Cronies 
 
 IV 
 
 MORE SURPRISES AND THE END 
 
 A couple of weeks later the Cronies met again. 
 With a fortnight's flight of time they had soft- 
 ened still more, and felt kindlier to Mandy and 
 even peaceably to Purvall; anyhow they thought 
 so. 
 
 *'It is a beautiful recollection,'* said Billy. *'A 
 picture to hang upon the walls- of memory. ' ' 
 
 "A sockdologer, " said Dan. 
 
 "I'm glad I ever met her," continued Billy. 
 
 "Me, too," replied Dan. 
 
 * ' She was a fine girl, ' ' Billy went on, ' ' consider- 
 ing her station in life." 
 
 ' * Yep, ' ' said Dan ; " a sweet creature. ' ' 
 
 "I can't for my life see how you ever got it into 
 your head that she loved you, Dan." 
 
 "Well, if you will force me to explain, I will 
 say this, that whenever I was there she could 
 never take her eyes off me. A man would be a 
 fool not to see something in conduct like this. ' ' 
 
 "Why, Dan," said Billy, bursting into a big 
 laugh, "do you know what she told me about 
 that? She said that your nose literally fascinated 
 her. That she never saw a nose in all her life that 
 interested her as much. She said sometimes it
 
 The Two Cronies 249 
 
 made her laugli, and then again she felt sad, for 
 it reminded her of the sunset. She said your 
 beard stood for the clouds and your nose for the 
 setting sun." 
 
 "Did she say that?" broke in Dan with an 
 angry "pitchoo." 
 
 ''She did, or Bob Lee was no general. Do you 
 remember the day she whispered something to 
 me by the water shelf? Well, that was it. I 
 Ganny, it is so." 
 
 ''Well, dad fetch her Ploosier hide of her. I 
 hope Pur\'^all will live to beat the life out of her." 
 
 For several minutes after this stormy declara- 
 tion Dan did nothing but fume, blow, squirt, pit- 
 choo, and talk about the lightning striking tar 
 heels and tallow faces. 
 
 "Don't take it so hard, Dan," said Billy, con- 
 solingly. "Don't take it so hard. You ought to 
 be glad that you furnished some entertainment 
 to her." 
 
 Dan said nothing to this as he slowly ruminated 
 on his weed. Suddenly a light flashed into his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Look here, Billy, what make you think she 
 cared for you? Now, honest Injun. Tell the truth 
 and shame the devil. Own up, as I did." 
 
 "Well," answered Billy, after firing a couple 
 of minnie balls, "I judged it from several things,
 
 250 The Two Cronies , 
 
 but mainly from the fact that whenever I would 
 leave her she would follow me with her eyes, and 
 even come after me across the room, upon the gal- 
 lery, and into the yard. It was at first a little 
 embarrassing, but finally became pleasant." 
 
 At this Dan fairly fell over against the fence 
 where they were talking while his whoops sent a 
 rabbit flying out of a clump of bushes to the 
 woods. Billy's eyes contracted and expanded, and 
 at last with considerable dignity he demanded an 
 explanation. 
 
 * ' Wait, ' ' said Dan, ' * till I get my breath. Well, 
 ha!— ha I— ha!— How will I ever get it out— Billy, 
 old boy, she told me she wouldn't miss seeing you 
 pucker your mouth and shoot your air bullets for 
 pay. She said a circus with a clown and monkey 
 all throw 'd in wasn't equal to you with your 
 mouth draw'd up to shoot and one of your eyes 
 squinted as if you was taking aim at something." 
 
 This was the longest speech that Dan had ever 
 been known to make, and it was certainly effect- 
 ive. Billy's eyes looked like he had borrowed a 
 pair of Saturn's rings. 
 
 "Dan Bivings, do you solemnly swear that she 
 said that?" 
 
 ''May I drop dead in my tracks, if she didn't.'* 
 
 There was a long silence between the men, in 
 which Billy fired more minnie balls to the minute
 
 The Two Cronies 251 
 
 than he had even been known to do before. It 
 seemed also from the force with which they were 
 projected, that he was aiming at somebody on 
 Big Black. 
 
 Finally he turned to Dan, with withering sar- 
 casm in his voice, and said: 
 
 "She was far below our station." 
 
 ''Shore," replied Dan. 
 
 "Nothing but a giggling ignoramus," added 
 Billy. 
 
 "Tallow faced at that," said Dan. 
 
 "She was a whining, drawling Tar-heel," pur- 
 sued Billy hotly. 
 
 "A back-woods hussy," said Dan. 
 
 "I'm glad Pur\'all got her," snapped Billy. 
 
 "Me, too," said Dan. 
 
 Then followed a duel between the two men of 
 minnie ball firing and the blood gushing sound. 
 At last, with a look upon his face as if he was 
 settling the most important of matters, Billy said: 
 
 "If I had married her the Buffingtons of Vir- 
 ginia would never have lifted up their heads 
 
 again." 
 
 "The Bivings, of South Carolina,— " com- 
 menced Dan. 
 
 "I am certainly sorrj'' for Pun'all," intei*posed 
 Billv.
 
 252 The Two Cronies 
 
 "Me, too," said Dan. 
 
 The Cronies walked on together down the road 
 after these fierce speeches, and stopped involun- 
 tarily before the empty Robinson cabin which 
 fronted the bayou and swamp. The evening was 
 coming on. A few locusts were at their drowsy 
 song in the trees as if sorrowing over the absence 
 of Mandy, and the house and yard looked dark 
 and desolate. 
 
 The men stood gazing silently for a few min- 
 utes at the empty nest whose song bird had flown, 
 and then with a parting grasp of the hand, they 
 separated. Both turned their faces homeward, 
 and both in spite of their defiant words, were 
 weak and sick at heart for a sing-song voiced 
 country girl in red calico, who that very instant 
 was supremely happy on Big Black with Tom 
 Pur\^all, another man. 
 
 Dan sat in front of his humble home which 
 looked upon the woods, and listened until long 
 after nightfall to the melancholy chanting of the 
 frogs in the willow lined marsh. His late conver- 
 sation with Billy had revived the partially buried 
 past, and torn apart the wound that had begun to 
 heal. He refused the supper to which he was re- 
 peatedly summoned by his mother, and remained 
 silent in the dark. The only sound coming through 
 the open door to the waiting woman was the soft
 
 The Two Cronies 253 
 
 rustling of the com which grew close to the cabin, 
 or the ■ * pitchoo ' ' of her grieving son which came 
 as regularly out of the night shadows as if timed 
 by a watch. 
 
 Billy also stationed himself by his cabin door and 
 pensively contemplated Clear Lake as it lay quiet 
 and beautiful before him. He saw it crimson in the 
 sunset, then j^ale and darken as his hopes had done, 
 while the forest on the opposite side became gloomy 
 and spectral and sighed as though in pain. But 
 still the man sat with his chin resting on his hand 
 as he gazed upon the glimmering sheet of water. 
 
 By and by the owls began their usual night 
 concert across the lake. One was particularly 
 vociferous as he called out. according to the negro 
 translation: 
 
 **I cooks for myself, 
 Who cooks for you all?" 
 
 ''Why," laughed Billy, ''that is poetry. Any- 
 how it is part of a verse and I '11 finish it for him 
 the next time he says it." 
 
 In another minute from across the lake came 
 the owl hoot: 
 
 "I cooks for myself. 
 Who cooks for you all?"
 
 254 The Two Cronies 
 
 Billy sprang to his feet and putting his hands to 
 his mouth like a trumpet, he shouted back: 
 
 "I cooks for myself, 
 And Mandy for Purvall. ' ' 
 
 The cry echoed back from the other side, and 
 went reverberating up the dark wooded shore 
 with faint, and fainter repetitions, "Mandy for 
 Pur^^all," "Mandy for Purvall," until at a distant 
 bend of the lake it could just be heard, "Mandy 
 for Purvall,"— and then all was still. 
 
 The owl was silenced, but so was his interrup- 
 ter. The momentary fun was all gone out of 
 Billy, and sitting down on a wooden bench before 
 his lonely cabin, he, the strong man who boasted 
 of the Buflfington family pride and said he was 
 glad Pur\^all had the girl he loved, buried his face 
 in his hands and wept great, bitter, scalding tears 
 in the starlight.